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http://www.archive.org/details/elizpoemsOOkinnrich 


POEMS 


BY 


ELIZABETH    C.    KINNEY. 


NEW   YORK: 
HURD   AND    HOUGHTON, 

459  Broome  Street. 
1867. 


^'> 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlje  year  1867,  by 

HORD   AND   HOCOHTON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


*   •   •  • 


RIVERSIDE,    CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED    BY 

H.   0.   HOUGHTON   AND   COMPANY. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  HON.  W.  E.  DODGE. 

If  I  bring  flowers,  to  whom  will  they  be  sweet, 
If  not  to  tliee,  O  brother  of  my  heart ! 
If  only  weeds,  thy  love  will  do  its  part 
To  gather  sweetness  where  but  dry  leaves  meet, 
And  so  I  lay  this  volume  at  thy  feet : 
If  what  is  lacking  in  poetic  art, 
Affection's  purest  essence  might  impart, 
The  gift  were  not  more  hearty,  than  complete ; 
With  sense  of  incompleteness  all  alive  — 
With  the  cold  Critic's  scalpel  in  full  view, 
For  one  consoling  plaudit  still  I  strive, 
And  dare  the  strife  in  public  to  renew  — 
Deeming  no  meed  of  human  praise  more  true, 
Than  what  a  brother's  heart  and  voice  may  give. 

E.  C.  K. 


M182043 


CONTENTS. 


— ♦— 

ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

PAGS 

To  AN  Italian  Beggar-Boy 3 

Tuscan  Fishermen 7 

To  THE  Boy  who  goes  daily  past  my  Windows  sing- 
ing        . 10 

Alone  by  the  Mediterranean 13 

The  Coliseum  by  Moonlight 15 

Venice  in  1855 18 

Hymn  to  the  Alps 22 

Hymn  to  the  Ocean        .......  26 

A  Spring  Song 29 

Spring  Rain 30 

Violet 32 

Moss  Rosebuds 34 

Rain  Reveries 36 

The  Poet  and  Violet 39 

The  Fountain 43 

To  the  Eagle -     .        .        .        .  45 

The  Quakeress  Bride 48 

Nature's  Teachings 50 

Children 52 

Which  shall  Go? 54 

The  Dying  Child 56 

The  Young  Mother's  Lament 58 

The  Flowers 60 

God's  Smiles 62 

To  A  Mourning  Dove 64 


Vi  •  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Love's  vigil 67 

Love  and  Doubt fi9 

Platonic  Love 71 

Love's  Captuke  and  Escape 73 

The  Spirit  of  Song 75 

The  Advent 78 

Life's  Shadows *  .        .        .  81 

At  Dawn.  After  a  Night  of  Suffering  ...  83 
To  a  Celebrated  Harpist:  on  hearing  him  improvise 

Spring,  Autumn,  and  Winter  ....  85 
The  Triumph  of  Genius.    Illustrated  by  an  Incident 

IN  THE  Life  of  Schiller 88 

The  Blind  Psalmist 'Jl 

The  Four  Hands 94 

Autumn  Rain W) 

The  Frost-Spirit !)8 

To  THE  Dying  Year 101 

The  Woodman      .        . 103 

Winter 106 

ODES. 

To  the  Moon Ill 

To  the  Sea 117 

To  Beautv •  122 

To  Health 130 

To  Poesy 138 

To  Time 145 

Thanksgiving  Ode 150 

Ode  on  Heaven 150 

To  Night 1G2 

SONNETS. 

To  A  Violet 171 

Flowery  Associations 172 

Sympathy 173 

Awakening  Love 175 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

Love's  Influence 176 

Parting 177 

Encouragement 178 

Cultivation 179 

Awe  and  Aspiration 180 

Beauty 181 

Presentiment     .        • 182 

Culture  and  Acquirement 183 

A  Dream 184 

The  Violets 185 

Personification 180 

Depression 187 

Nothing  New 188 

Premonition  .     v .        .        .  189 

Dread 190 

Despair 191 

Moral  Strength 192 

Spiritual  Discernment 193 

God's  Providence  over  All 194 

Human  Frailty •  •        .  195 

Prayer 196 

Fruits  of  Age 197 

Fading  Autumn 198 

To  A  Violet  found  in  December 199 

A  Winter  Night 200 

The  Closing  Year 201 

To  THE  Rhone 202 

By  the  Mediterranean     . 203 

To  Mount  Viso 204 

Moonlight  in  Italy    . 205 

To  THE  Greek  Slave 206 

Lines    suggested    by   the    Indian   of    Crawford's 

Groups 207 

"Written    on     the    Fly-leaf    of    Mrs.    Browning's 

Poems 209 

To  Arabella 210 

The  Sister  Queens 211 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


THE  MONTHS. 


January 

February 

March     . 

April  . 

May 

June     . 

July 

August 

September 

October 

November 

December 


215 
216 
217 
218 
219 
220 
221 
222 
223 
224 
225 


ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 


ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 


TO   AN  ITALIAN  BEGGAR-BOY. 


HOU  miniature  of  woes ! 

Thy  half-clad  meagre  form 
Along  the  highway  goes, 
Starvation's  spectre  !     Storm 
And  sun  alike  — 
Unheeded  strike 
That  head  which  never  covering  knows. 

Thy  ravenous  gray  eyes  glare 

Like  a  young  wolf's,  dread  boy ! 
Fearful  is  childhood's  stare. 
Bereft  of  childhood's  joy : 
It  makes  me  wild 
To  see  a  child 
Who  never  gladdened  at  a  toy. 

Oh,  hard  must  be  the  lot 
That  makes  a  child  a  dread! 


ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Where  children's  smiles  are  not, 
Thorns  grow  in  flowrets'  stead ; 
A  child's  glad  face 
Is  Heaven's  own  grace 

Round  manhood's  stern  existence  shed. 

Turn  off  that  hungry  eye, 

It  gnaws  at  Pity's  heart ! 
Here  's  bread ;  but  come  not  nigh  — 
Thy  look  makes  agues  start! 
There,  take  the  whole; 
To  thy  starved  soul 
No  crumb  of  joy  will  bread  impart 

Thine  is  the  famished  cry 
Of  a  young  heart  unfed, 
The  hollow  spirit's  sigh, 

For  something  more  than  bread. 
"  Give  !  give  ! "  it  says : 
Ah,  vain  he  prays 
To  man,  who  prayer  to  God  ne'er  said! 

Wert  thou  of  woman  born  ? 

Did  human  mother's  breast 
Nourish  thee,  thing  forlorn  ? 
Hath  any  love  carest 

Thine  infant  cheek? 
Did'st  ever  speak. 
Or  hear,  the  name  of  father  blest  ? 


TO  AN  ITALIAN  BEGGAR-BOY. 

No,  no,  it  cannot  be ! 

Thou  art  the  birth  of  Want  ; 
Thy  sire  was  Misery, 

Thy  mother  Famine  gaunt: 

Thou  hadst  no  home, — 
The  naked  dome 
Was  all  the  covering  Earth  could  grant. 

See !  here  a  happy  troop 
Of  real  children  come. 
Their  lips* the  fond  names  group 
Of  Father,  Mother,  Home ! 
They  go  not  far  — 
Love  is  the  star 
That  draws  them  back  whene'er  they  roam. 

But  wherefore,  with  mock  grin. 
Dost  thou  pursue  these  now? 
Hath  childhood  any  kin 
Or  kith  with  such  as  thou  f 
One  hand  did  form 
The  bird  and  worm  — 
No  other  kinship  these  allow. 

Hark !  there  rings  Nature's  laugh 
Fresh  from  those  well-fed  throats; 

Old  age  leans  on  his  staff 
To  listen  to  its  notes : 


ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

The  gush  of  joy 
Makes  him  a  boy, — 
How  glad  remembrance  o'er  it  gloats ! 

Does  that  spasmodic  scream, 

Jerked  from  thy  shrunken  chest, 
A  human  effort  seem 

To  laugh  among  the  rest? 
It  shocks  the  ear, 
O  God!  to  hear 
Woe,  through  a  child's  false  laugh,  confest! 

Anii  have  these  children  all 

One  Father,  each  who  owns? 
How  partial  blessings  fall 
Upon  his  little  ones ! 

"VVhy,  outcast  boy, 
Must  thou  mock  joy, 
While  these  pour  out  its  natural  tones? 

Ah!  why  indeed?     Be  hushed. 
Short-sighted  soul,  and  wait, 
To  learn  why  worms  are  crushed, 
While  birds  sing  at  heaven's  gate ; 
Why  pools  infect. 
While  lakes  reflect 
The  pure  sky,  and  bear  Fortune's  freight 


TUSCAN   FISHERMEN. 
MORNING. 

The  morning  breaks  without  a  cloud, 

The  air  is  full  of  balm  ; 
The  songster's  matin  swells  aloud, 

And  the  wide  sea  is  calm. 

The  mountain-tops  are  rimmed  with  light, 

And  now,  the  tranquil  view 
Begins  to  catch  a  splendor  bright 

That  floods  the  concave  blue. 

A  score  of  hardy  fishermen 

Are  spreading  out  their  sails, 
And  pushing  towards  the  sea  again, 

To  woo  the  morning  gales. 

Like  birds  in  flocks  their  little  barks 

The  rippling  waters  skim; 
Some  loving  soul  each  fisher  marks, 

And  cries,  "  Good  luck  to  him ! " 

The  young  wife  to  the  hillock  climbs. 
Whence  sight  more  freely  roves, 


ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

And  while  for  prayers  the  church-bell  chhnes, 
Prays  loud  for  him  she  loves. 

Not  empty  goes  the  fisher's  boat  — 

A  freight  of  love  it  bears ; 
Nor  empty  shall  it  homeward  float, 

If  answered  be  Love's  prayers. 

No  lot  is  hard,  no  fate  unkind. 

Where  woman  shares  a  part; 
Nor,  loved,  a  man  too  rough  to  find 

A  soft  spot  in  his  heart 

EVENING. 

The  evening  sun  his  glory  dips 

Into  the  molten  waves ; 
With  gold  the  cloud  and  mountain  tips, 

With  gold  the  sea-shore  paves. 

The  birds  are  winging,  pair  by  pair, 

This  way  to  waiting  nests ; 
Instinct  their  pilot  through  the  air, 

Love  beating  in  their  breasts. 

In  pairs  the  sails,  too,  re-appear  — 

Twin-phantoms  far  away; 
But  changing  all,  on  coming  near, 

To  things  of  every  day. 


TUSCAN   FISHERMEN.  9 

They  form,  indeed,  a  common  sight  — 

Common,  yet  something  more 
To  those  who  hail  it  every  night 

With  welcomes  from  the  shore. 

A  landward  breeze  the  white  sail  swells, 
And  swift  the  light  boats  come ; 

But  stronger  force  than  wind  impels 
Those  hardy  fishers  home. 

Ah!   unseen  cords  their  vessels  haste  — 

Together,  yet  apart  — 
All  draw  one  way,  and  each  is  fast 

Around  some  loving  heart. 

Kude  men !   where  find  a  rougher  set  ? 

But  each  assured  comes  back, 
If  full,  or  empty  be  his  net, 

Love's  greeting  will  not  lack. 


TO  THE   BOY 

WHO  GOES  DAILY  PAST  MY  WINDOWS  SINGING. 

I. 

Thou  happiest  thing  alive, 

Anomaly  of  earth ! 
If  sound  thy  lineage  give, 
Thou  art  the  natural  birth 

Of  affluent  Joy  — 
Thy  mother  's  name  was  Mirth, 
Thou  little  singing  boy ! 

II. 
Thy  star  —  it  was  a  sun  ! 

Thy  time  the  month  of  May, 
When  streams  to  music  run, 
And  birds  sing  all  the  day: 
Nature  did  tune 
Thy  gushing  voice  by  hers; 

A  fount  in  June 
Not  more  the  bosom  stirs: 

A  freshness  flows 
Through  every  bubbling  note. 

Sure  Nature  knows 
The  strains  Art  never  wrote. 


TO  THE  BOY.  11 

III. 
Where  was  the  human  curse, 

When  thou  did  'st  spring  to  life  ? 
All  feel  it  less,  or  worse, 
In  pain,  in  care,  in  strife. 
Its  dreadful  word 
Fell  from  the  lips  of  Truth ; 

'Tis  but  deferred, 
Unconscious  youth  ! 

That  curse  on  thee 
Is  sure  some  day  to  fall; 

Alas,  more  heavily 
If  Manhood  takes  it  all ! 

IV. 

I  will  not  think  of  this  — 

It  robs  me  of  my  part 
In  thy  outgushing  bliss : 

No  !   keep  thy  glad  young  heart 
Turned  toward  the  sun  — 
What  yet  shall  be. 
None  can  foresee : 
One  thing  is  sure  —  that  thou  hast  well  begun ! 

V. 

Meantime  shall  others  share. 
Wild  minstrel-boy. 


12  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

As  I,  to  lighten  care, 
The  music  of  thy  joy  • 
Like  scents  of  flowers, 
Along  life's  wayside,  passed 

In  dreary  hours, 
Too  sweet  to  last, 

Like  touches  soft, 
Of  Nature,  on  those  strings 

Within  us,  jarred  so  oft 
By  earth's  discordant  things. 


ALONE   BY  THE  MEDITERRANEAN. 

Leave  me  alone  !     Yet  am  I  not  alone  — 

Stays  with  me  the  companionable  sea: 

Its  little  curling  waves  wild  music  make, 

Singing  into  my  brain  their  melodies ; 

Its  rolling  billows  beat  against  my  soul 

With  a  sublimer  cadence;  and  I  hear, 

Amid  it  all,  a  plaintive  undertone  — 

The  moaning  spirit  of  this  tideless  sea. 

Weary  through  resting  never,  day  nor  night. 

Tell  me,  thou  voice  profound,  that  secret  which 

These  classic  waters  hide  within  their  breast ; 

Why,  in  grand  freedom  from  a  general  law. 

Scorning  allegiance  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven, 

They  roll  forever  without  changing  tides  ? 

No  answer,  save  thy  plaint  perpetual ! 

As  though  imprisoned  in  some  sea-shell,  thou 

Wert  pleading  alway  for  thy  liberty. 

Hark,  here  a  footstep  comes !  Not  yet,  good  friend ! 

Leave  me  alone,  for  I  am  not  alone: 

There  stand  the  mountains,  hoary  .sentinels, 

Watching  me  while  I  muse,  or  bearing  up 

My  soul  beyond  the  clouds  which  they  have  pierced. 


14  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

The  blue  sky  bends  o'er  me  caressingly ; 
The  frolic  breezes  whisper  in  my  ear; 
And  here  the  setting  sun  sends  social  beams 
To  cheer  my  spirits,  or  a  golden  shower 
To  mellow  thought  and  ripen  it  to  song. 


THE  COLISEUM   BY  MOONLIGHT. 


See  how  it  stands  there  in  this  spectral  light, 
A  shade  gigantic  of  the  mighty  past ! 

Its  beauty  charms,  its  frown  appals  my  sight; 
The  view  will  vanish,  but  the  feeling  last, 
A  shade's  great  shadow  on  my  spirit  cast. 

Gray,  wrinkled  Ruin  is  by  day  sublime. 
By  night  mysterious!   I  shrink  aghast, 

As  in  the  ghostly  presence  of  Old  Time, 
And  hear  unearthly  knells  far  off  in  solemn  chime. 

n. 

Where  are  thy  victims,  memorable  pile  ? 

From  that  arena  comes  an  answering  groan ; 
And  hark!  below,  in  those  deep  dungeons  vile, 

Sigh  answers  sigh,  and  moan  repeateth  moan; 

While  Echo,  taking  up  the  hollow  tone. 
Sends  it,  through  fearful  corridors  of  rock. 

Along    the   seats   which    boisterous   life   have 
known. 
Where,  joining  laughter,  it  becomes  a  mock 
Of  pleasure  and  of  pain,  a  discord  and  a  shock. 


16  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

ni. 
Dare  enter  ?    Yes :  the  moon  has  gone  before, 

Bearing  her  silver  lamp  to  guide  my  feet, 
And  with  its  pale  beams  wanly  gilding  o'er 

The  mould  and  rent  of  Ruin's  proudest  seat ; 

Or,  making  lights  and  shades  so  grimly  meet, 
That  spectres  under  arches  stand  arrayed 

In  the  white  armor  of  the  winding-sheet ; 
And  all  the  colunms,  into  Caesars  made, 
Eye  one  another  down  the  mystic  colonnade. 

IV. 

And  what  is  that?   a  lion's  glaring  eye. 

Piercing  the  darkness  of  that  den  afar  ? 
Or,  underneath  do  silent  waters  lie? 

And  is  that  fire-ball  a  reflected  star? 

All  sights,  all  sounds  upon  my  senses  jar, 
As  untold  shapes,  and  voices  from  the  grave. 

O  cruel  Past !  Death's  struggles  could  not  mar 
Thy  monstrous  mirth!     The   Christian   and   the 
Brave, 
A  sacrifice  to  Sport,  their  blood  heroic  gave. 

V. 

Down,   down,  ye   phantom    memories !   sanguine 
stains 
Are   coming   through  the   pavement  where  I 
tread : 


THE  COLISEUM  BY  MOONLIGHT.  17 

The  terror-startled  Fancy  nothing  gains 

From  feats  nocturnal,  save  uncertain  dread; 
One  walks  with   shadows   when   by  moonlight 
led: 
No  further  will  I  go,  but  pause  and  gaze 

On  all  this  grandeur,  till,  by  beauty  fed, 
The  heart  grows  strong,  and  Thought  itself  can 
raise 
Up  to  the  pure  sitblime,  where  utterance  is  praise. 


VENICE   IN    1855. 

Hail,  City  of  Islands !   hail,  spouse  of  the  Sea ! 

Fair  dream  of  my  youth,  I  behold  thee  at  last ; 
From  the  bosom  of  waters  thou  risest  to  me 

As  a  spectre  of  glory,  a  shade  of  the  Past ! 

Thy  palaces,  pinnacles,  pillars,  and  domes, 
Point  up  to  the  same  liquid  blue  as  of  yore ; 

But  where  is  the  lustre  that  circled  those  homes  — 
The  sunlight  that  gildeth  those  temples  no  more  ? 

Ah,  there  Reminiscence  and  Ruin  remain, 
To  tell  of  the  days  of  thy  prowess  and  pride, 

When  the  Merchants  of  Venice,  those  lords  of  the 
main. 
Brought  thither  new  treasures  on  every  tide. 

But  'mid  desolation,  decay,  and  despair. 
To  live  is  th'  Rialto's  unchangeable  lot; 

For  genius  hath  left  its  vitality  there, 

Where  the  ghost  of  old  Shylock  seems  haunting 
the  spot. 


VENICE  IN  1855.  19 

Ay,  Venice,  though  doomed,  thou   shalt  live  to  all 
time ! 
Though  the  sea   should   roll  o'er  thee  its  sepul- 
chre-wave ; 
Immortal  alike  by  thy  glory  and  crime. 

Thou  canst  not  sink  down  to  Oblivion's  grave. 

Ikit,  seat  of  the  mighty,  how  great  was  thy  fall ! 

Once  the  prince  of  the  nations,  the  port  of  the 
world. 
From  freedom,  abased  to  the  dust  and  the  thrall, 

From  a  throne,  to  the  feet  of  the  Austrian  hurled ! 

Thy  bravest,  thy  sorest  of  strifes  was  thy  last ; 

AYhen  Liberty  writhed  in  Mortality's  grasp, 
Forever  departed,  the  soul  of  the  Past, 

And  the  hope  of  the  Future  expired  in  that  gasp. 

But  the  spirit  of  Beauty,  immortal  as  Fame, 
Yet  lingers  in  sadness  where  Glory  hath  died; 

And  the  fair  Adriatic  to  thee  is  the  same 

As  she  was  in  the  days  of  thy  valor  and  pride. 

Ah,  how  she  caresses  thy  lordly  remains. 

While  her  beautiful  bosom  still  heaves  as  before, 

As  if  her  own  freedom  could  loosen  thy  chains. 
Or  the  spouse  of  her  youth  to  lost  glory  restore ! 


20  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Still  in  death,  in  decay,  thou  art  Venice  the  grand  I 
Embosomed  in  waters,  impearled  by  the  stars ; 
And  now,  in  this   moonlight,  how  calm   dost  thou 
stand, 
While  no  discord  the  scene  of  thy  peacefulness 
mars. 

'T  is  enchantment !  I  dream !  —  In  a  cradle  I  glide, 
Embedded  as  softly  in  velvet  and  down. 

As  if  lulled  in  Love's  lap,  while  around  and  beside, 
Old  temples  and  turrets  in  majesty  frown. 

Each  moonlighted  palace  a  sepulchre  seems, 
Each  gondola  black  a  funereal  hearse, 

So  solemnly  bearing  to  shadowy  realnis 
Thy  doges,  whose  deeds  are  immortal  in  verse. 

And  the  tall  Campanile  there  stands  like  a  seer, 
A  type  of  the  gray-bearded  giants  of  old. 

Now  looking  far  out  on  the  sea,  as  to  hear 
Thy  fate,  in  the  murmur  of  waters  foretold. 

Oh,  city  of  monuments  reared  to  the  dead ! 
From    the    domes   of  St.   Mark,   to    the   dark 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  — 
From  the  palace  of  state,  to  its  dungeons  of  dread  — 
From  the  past  to  the  present,  how  thought  swiftly 
flies! 


VENICE  IN  1855.  21 

And  where  finds  the  Muse  consolation  at  last? 

Save  in  these  freed  dungeons,  where  only  I  hear 
The  echo  of  moans  from  the  murderous  Past, 

And  see  but  grim  spectres,  or  emptiness  drear. 

Peace !  peace  to  thee,  Venice  !  thy  shame  was 
more  great, 

As  the  tyrant  in  rule,  than  by  tyrants  trod  down ; 
And  lighter  the  curse  is  of  slavery's  fate, 

Of  an  autocrat's  chain,  than  an  autocrat's  crown. 


HYMN  TO   THE   ALPS. 


Eternal  pyramids,  built  not  with  hands, 

From  linked  foundations  that  deep-hidden  lie, 
Ye  rise  apart,  and  each  a  wonder  stands! 

Your  marble  peaks,  which   pierce  the  clouds   so 

high. 
Seem  holding  up  the  curtain  of  the  sky : 
And  there,  sublime  and  solemn,  have  ye  stood, 
While  crumbling   Time,  o'erawed,  passed   rever- 
ent by. 
Since  Nature's  resurrection  from  the  flood, 
Since  Earth,  new  born,  again  received  God's  plaudit, 
«  Good  ! " 

II. 

Vast  as  mysterious,  beautiful  as  grand ! 

Forever  looking  into  Heaven's  clear  face. 
Types  of  sublimest  Faith,  unmoved  ye  stand 

While  tortured  torrents  rave  along  your  base  ; 

Silent  yourselves,  while,  loosed  from  its  high  place. 
Headlong  the  avalanche  loud  thundering  leaps! 

Like  a  foul  spirit,  maddened  by  disgrace, 


HYMN  TO  THE  ALPS.  23 

That  in  its  fall  the  souls  of  thousands  sweeps 
Into  perdition's  gulf,  down  ruin's  slippery  steeps. 

III. 

When  rose  before  me  your  transcendent  heights, 
Tipped  from  the  orient  with  refulgent  gold, 

While  on  your  slopes  were  blended  shades  and  lights, 
As  morn's  pale  mist  away,  like  drapery,  rolled, 
My  soul,  entranced,  forgot  its  earthly  hold. 

Upborne  to  purer  realms,  on  morning's  wing; 
Yet  felt  serene,  as  ye  are  calm  and  cold, 

A  joy  that  sublimated  every  thing. 

That  hushed  all  save  the  heart's  profoundest,  loftiest 
string. 

IV. 

But  when  against  the  evening's  solemn  sky 

Your  white  peaks  through  the  spectral  moonlight 
peered, 
Ye  were  Titanic  spirits  to  my  eye. 

Awing  the  soul  until  itself  it  feared ! 

Oh !    how  sublimely  awful  ye  appeared. 
Silent  as  death  in  your  cold  solitude; 

Appalling  the  lone  traveller,  as  he  neared 
Some  sacred  spot,  where  none  might  dare  intrude 
With  sandalled  foot,  base  thought,  or  word,  or  ac- 
tion rude. 


24  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

V. 

Imagination  gives  you  endless  forms : 
Now  ye  seem  giant  sentinels,  that  wait 

To  watch  from  your  calm  heights  a  world  of  storms, 
Reporting,  each  in  turn,  at  Heaven's  far  gate, 
The  world's  advances,  and  man's  brief  estate : 

How  many  races  have  ye  seen  descend 

Into  Time's  grave,  the  lowly  with  the  great ; 

How  many  kingdoms  seen  asunder  rend, 

How  many  empires  fall,  how  many  centuries  end! 

VI. 

Dread  monuments  of  your  Creator's  power ! 

When  Egypt's  pyramids  shall  mouldering  fall, 
In  undiminished  glory  ye  shall  tower, 

And  still  the  reverent  heart  to  worship  call  — 

Yourselves  a  hymn  of  praise  perpetual : 
And  if  at  last,  when  rent  is  Law's  great  chain, 

Ye  with  material  things  must  perish  all. 
Thoughts  which  ye  have  inspired,  not  born  in  vain, 
In  immaterial  minds  for  aye  shall  live  again. 


HYMN  TO   THE   OCEAN. 

Forever  callest  thou,  unfathomed  Deep, 
Unto  the  spirit's  yet  profoiinder  depths ; 
And  He  who  gave  thee  that  mysterious  voice, 
Whose  hollow  tones  make  tremulous  my  soul, 
From  thought's  abyss  awaken  its  response. 
Who  that  hath  gazed  on  thy  portentous  breast, 
And  seen  it  heave,  as  if  some  mighty  heart 
Convulsively  beneath  its  surface  beat. 
Can  marvel  that  through  Superstition's  mists 
The  ancients  saw  and  feared  thee  as  a  god? 
For,  when  Imagination  spreads  her  wings 
Above  thy  trackless,  measureless  expanse, 
Lo !   thou  becomest  a  huge  Titan  stretched 
In  ominous  repose,  and  breathing  hoarse 
As  muttered  thunder  in  yon  gathering  cloud  ; 
But,  as  that  rises,  growing  dark  and  dense, 
Thou  wakenest  too,  in  thy  terrific  might, 
Foaming  with  rage,  and  for  the  combat  armed 
From  the  munitions  of  thy  secret  caves ; 
While  every  threat'ning  thunder-peal  of  Heaven 
Is  bellowed  back  from  thy  defiant  waves! 

Thus  Ocean,  I,  on  airy  pinions  poised, 
Behold  thee  in  the  sunlight  and  the  storm; 
But  when  I  rise  to  Reason's  purer  realms, 


26  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

My  truer  vision  sees  thee  as  thou  art  — 
No  god  thyself,  but  God's  stupendous  thought,  — 
The  chief  expression  of  his  matchless  might, 
And  swayed  forever  by  great  Nature's  laws. 
Ay,  Nature's  Sovereign,  lest  in  turbulence 
Thou  break  from  his  vast  chain  of  harmonies, 
Hath  placed  a  shining  monitor  on  high, 
Whose  mystic  signs  thy  restless  tides  obey. 
Oh,  when  her  smile  serene  upon  thee  beams. 
How  thy  wild  waves  rejoice  and  laugh  again,  . 
Chasing  each  other,  as,  in  frolic  mood, 
They  cast  white  pebbles  on  the  beaten  shore ! 
And  how  resplendent  art  thou,  when,  with  mom, 
In  golden  livery  Phoebus'  heralds  come. 
And  burnished  lances  gleam  athwart  thy  breast! 
The  fiery  steeds  that  urge  his  radiant  car. 
Seem  leaping  as  from  out  thy  hidden  depths 
To  mount  the  orient,  while  all  Nature  hails, 
And  thine  exulting  waves  the  chorus  join. 
Then  sends  my  soul  her  orisons  above. 
Timed  to  the  music  of  thy  morning  hymn. 

When  murky  clouds  at  twilight  veil  the  sky, 

And  flit  like  spectres  o'er  the  leaden  sea; 

A  murmurous  moan,  from  thy  deep  caverns  sent. 

Appalls  my  ear,  as  each  receding  wave 

Gives  pause  a  moment  to  the  breakers'  boom ; 

A  supernatural  awe  steals  through  my  soul, 

While  ghosts  of  buried  memories  rise  in  troops, 


HYMN  TO  THE  OCEAN.  27 

And,  grimly,  slowly  pass  across  the  brain : 

Then  too,  prayer  wakens,  but  its  trembling  thought 

Shrinks  from  the  lips  that  palsying  fear  hath  sealed, 

And  timid  hides  within  the  heart's  recess. 

But  oh,  when  night  and  storms  contend  without, 

The  distant  roar  of  thy  tunmltuous  surge 

Startles  imagination  like  to  groans 

Of  demons  from  the  pit  of  Erebus ! 

I  seem  to  stand  alone  on  danger's  brink. 

That  trembles  with  the  crash  of  breaking  seas ; 

To  linger  there,  as  spell-bound  by  the  sense, 

The  awfulness  of  true  sublimity,  — 

Old  Ocean  waring  with  the  incensed  winds  I 

From  year  to  year,  from  age  to  age,  thy  voice 

Perpetual  Sea,  proclaims  Omnipotence ! 

An  uncreated,  all-creating  Power, 

Transcending,  far  as  heaven,  thy  proudest  heights ; 

Deeper  than  thine  unfathomable  depths ; 

Wider  than  is  thy  limitless  expanse ; 

Encircling  thee  in  its  immensity. 

And  staying  thy  ambitious  waves  at  will. 

But  here  thought's  subtlest  faculty  must  fail ; 

It  cannot  pierce  the  dim  indefinite, 

Which  awes  the  soul  through  thee,  mysterious  Deep, 

And  nearest  brings  it  that  engulfing  sea 

Where  thou  thyself  art  lost  —  Eternity  ! 


A  SPRING  SONG. 

The  dainty-footed  Spring  again 
Comes  tripping  o'er  the  lea  ; 

Verdure  salutes  her  from  the  plain, 
And  blossoms  from  the  tree. 

Where'er  she  steps  the  buds  peep  up, 

Her  kindly  smile  to  greet, 
And  every  floweret's  dewy  cup 

Casts  diamonds  at  her  feet 

The  brooklet  bears  her  silver  notes 

Along  the  deep  ravine, 
As  on  its  breast  she  gayly  floats 

To  deck  the  sylvan  scene: 

'T  is  caught  again  by  countless  birds 
That  fill  the  woods  with  song; 

Whilst  bleating  flocks  and  lowing  herds 
Give  echo  loud  and  long. 

The  swallow  from  the  chimney-top 
Invites  her  young  to  roam ; 


A  SPRING  SONG.  29 

The  cricket  hath  a  merrier  hop, 
The  bee  a  busier  hum. 

The  matron  here,  amid  her  brood,    /   )■ 

Cackles  her  household  note ; 
And  fowls  upon  the  limpid  flood 

Beside  their  ducklings  float. 

Ay,  every  thing  that  lives  and  loves. 

In  earth,  and  air,  and  sea. 
Unites  with  hills,  and  vales,  and  groves, 

Fair  Spring,  to  welcome  thee ! 


■-7 


SPRING   RAIN. 

I  LOVE  the  Spring  rain ! 
Its  liquid  refrain 

Is  music  to  me  : 
It  sings  of  new  birth 
To  the  well-watered  earth, 
,To  meadow,  hill,  valley,  and  tree. 

Rejoice,  little  seed ! 

In  the  time  of  thy  need 

It  comes  to  thy  heart, — 
Patters  first  at  its  door. 
Then  descends  to  the  core. 
There  riches  of  life  to  impart : 

It  quickens  —  it  lives! 
Now  upward  it  strives 

To  look  in  Day's  face  ; 
Wlien  lo !  at  the  view ; 
It  opens  anew, — 
The  flower  takes  the  little  seed's  place. 

I  love  the  Spring  rain, 
With  its  liquid  refrain, 


SPRING   RAIN.  31 

Soul-music  it  seems; 
It  sings  to  my  brain, 
While  it  patters  the  pane, 
Such  songs  as  we  hear  in  our  dreams. 

Nor  singeth  alone, 
In  sweet  monotone, — 

It  brings  life  indeed  : 
I  love  the  Spring  rain. 
With  its  liquid  refrain,  — 
It  quickens  the  soul's  early  seed. 

It  sings  of  that  Power 
Which  sendeth  the  shower, 
For  Nature's  new  birth : 
I  love  the  Spring  rain  ! 
Its  liquid  refrain 
Sings  ever,  "  God  loveth  the  Earth  1  ** 


VIOLET. 

Happiest  thing  alive  in  Nature  — 

Nature's  pet! 
Loving,  laughing,  leaping  creature, 
Sunshine  lights  thy  every  feature,  — 

Violet! 

Envying  thee  would  be  but  madness ; 

Where  did'st  get 
All  that  little  life  of  gladness  ? 
Oft  thy  mother's  brow  wears  sadness, — 

Violet ! 

Thou  the  likeness  of  thy  father 

Art  —  and  yet. 
Clouds  on  his  brow  sometimes  gather; 
Child  of  Mirth,  then,  art  thou  rather,  — 

Violet ! 

Though  my  lids  with  feeling  quiver. 

We  're  well  met ;  — 
Me  from  pain  thy  smiles  deliver, 
Blessings  on  thee,  sweet  joy-giver,  — 
Violet ! 


VIOLET.  38 

Go  on  laughing,  leaping,  dancing! 

I  forget 
Sorrows  past  and  years  advancing. 
While  my  eyes  at  thine  are  glancing, — 

Violet! 

Happy  Childhood!  No  foreseeing  — 

No  regret ! 
Innocence  with  Heaven  agreeing, 
All  thy  joy  consists  in  being, — 

Violet ! 


MOSS   ROSEBUDS. 

Bring  them  hither !    Bring  them  hither ! 

Let  me  breathe  their  charmed  perfume; 
Keep  them  by  me,  till  shall  wither 

All  their  beauty,  all  their  bloom: 
Yet  to  see  them  makes  me  tremble, 

Yet  to  scent  them  makes  me  faint  — 
Words  may  not  my  thoughts  dissemble, 

Art  cannot  my  feelings  paint 

'T  is  in  vain  to  strive  with  nature  ; 

Let  me  yield  to  sad  delight. 
Oh,  there  is  no  living  creature 

Who  can  rob  this  heart  to-night! 
There  's  no  force  that  can  deny  me 

Memory's  solace,  hope's  sweet  balm; 
Nor  that  in  these  rosebuds  by  me, 

Which  disturbs,  yet  brings  me  calm. 

Flow  then,  tears,  bedew  these  roses 
Till  they  tremble,  too,  with  life; 

Till  each  opening  bud  discloses 
Its  red  heart  with  feeling  rife ; 


MOSS  ROSEBUDS.  35 

For  it  cannot  be  they  're  senseless  — 
They,  which  stir  my  senses  thus ; 

Flowers  that  comfort  the  defenseless, 
Must  have  sympathies  with  us. 

Yes  ;  their  odor  is  a  spirit 

Which  exhales  to  blend  with  mine ; 
Suffering  hearts  the  gift  inherit 

Nature's  secrets  to  divine. 
And  I  know  there's  kindred  feeling 

In  these  rosebuds  and  this  breast; 
Thus  through  all  my  senses  stealing 

Is  sweet  sadness  unexprest 


RAIN   REVERIES. 


Steadily  it  rains ; 

Steadily  drop  the  eaves 
On  my  window-panes  — 
Sweet  monotony ! 
Ever  unto  me, 
Like  a  symphony 
Of  the  stirring  leaves. 
Who  to-day  complains  ? 

Whom  "  the  dull  rain "  grieves, 
Dull  himself  must  be  ; 
Never  dreameth  he, 
How  the  poet  weaves 

Rhymes  in  sympathy. 


Feed  afresh  the  fire, 
Near  the  arm-chair  roll ; 

Leave  me  with  my  lyre. 
Hark!   this  pattering 
Seemeth  Music's  wing, 
Softly  fluttering 


RAIN  REVERIES;  gj 

At  ray  open  soul: 
Now  it  stirs  desire, 
Now  a  sweet  control 
Seizes  me  —  I  sing, 
Playing  on  one  string 
Timed  by  drops  the  whole  — 
I  still  listening. 

III. 
Blessed  be  the  rain  ! 

Feeling  't  is,  and  thought. 
To  the  heart  and  brain ; 
Music  to  the  ears, 
Which  the  spirit  hears, 
As  if  singing  spheres 
Nearer  earth  were  brought ; 
Like  a  shining  chain, 

Of  "  linked  sweetness  "  wrought, 
Sound  to  sight  appears  ; 
Lo !   the  distance  nears. 
Upward  by  it  caught,  — 
Angels  are  my  peers. 

IV. 

Down  again  I  come, 

As  the  raindrops  fall, 
To  my  humble  home : 

Now  the  dream  is  past, 


38  ABKOAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Twas  too  bright  to  last; 
Earthward  I  am  cast, 
Like  a  worm,  so  small  ! 
Disappears  Heaven's  dome, 
Vanishes  all,  —  all,  — 
Here  I  sit  aghast ! 
Yet  it  raineth  fast, — 
Music's  gentle  thrall 
Is  not  overpast 

V. 

Still  I  sing  away, 
By  my  own  fireside, 

All  the  livelong  day; 

While  the  pleasant  rain 
Comes  and  comes  again. 
Like  the  sweet  refrain 

Of  a  roundelay : 

What  without  betide. 

Naught  to  me,  I  say ; 
Rumor  taps  in  vain 
At  my  window-pane. 

To  all  guests  a  "  Nay  !  "  — 
Welcome  but  the  rain. 


THE   POET  AND   VIOLET. 

A  SON  of  Genius  once  espied 

A  violet  in  the  shade, 
Whose  fragile  form  grew  up  beside 

A  stream  that  blessed  the  glade. 
This  violet  his  Fancy's  eye 

Made  fairest  of  its  kind, 
And  saw  in  its  cerulean  dye 

All  heavenly  charms  combined. 

So,  kneeling  on  the  streamlet's  bank 

In  ecstasy  devout, 
He  kissed  the  flower  —  its  fragrance  drank. 

And  love  in  song  poured  out: 
"  I  long  to  pluck  thee,  violet ! 

Thy  charms  I  would  possess ;  " 
But  its  blue  eye,  with  tear-drops  wet, 

O'erflowed  at  his  caress. 

Then  turning  to  the  shining  stream, 

He  saw  within  its  breast 
The  violet's  form,  as  in  a  dream. 

So  tranquilly  at  rest: 


40  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

The  poet  paused  —  for  well  he  knew 

The  floweret  that  he  loved, 
Which  freshness  from  the  streamlet  drew, 

Would  wither  if  removed. 

"No:  —  let  me  leave  thee  where  thou  art, 

My  touch  thy  charms  would  blight; 
But,  little  floweret  of  my  heart, 

To  keep  thee  still  in  sight, 
Thy  heavenly  image  I  will  paint 

And  bear  it  hence  away. 
Where  homage  that  befits  a  saint 

Shall  greet  it  day  by  day." 

He  said,  and  quick  his  pencil  took, 

Love  all  its  movements  graced, 
While,  kneeling  still  beside  the  brook, 

The  violet's  form  he  traced  : 
His  poet-soul,  with  passion  warm, 

Did  fancy's  hues  impart, 
And  Nature  owned  the  added  charm 

Of  his  divinest  art 

And  when  from  out  the  canvas  beamed 

That  moist  blue  eye  on  him. 
There  lovelier  its  image  seemed 

Than  on  the  streamlet's  brim ; 


THE  POET  AND  THE  VIOLET.  41 

And  in  the  fervor  of  that  hour, 

He  swore,  where'er  he  roved. 
Hence  never  more  to  love  a  flower, 

As  he  that  violet  loved ! 

But,  turning  from  the  shady  wood. 

Where  all  was  calm  and  green. 
He  left  behind  his  tender  mood. 

And  sought  a  brighter  scene : 
Amid  the  whirling  city's  glare 

The  dreamy  poet  moved. 
And  in  the  perfumed,  gay  parterre 

From  flower  to  flower  he  roved. 

What  of  the  little  violet  now 

Which  late  his  lips  did  press? 
'Twas  blooming  still,  and  kept  his  vow 

Safe  folded  in  its  breast : 
But  to  its  home  beside  the  brook 

The  poet  came  no  more  ; 
Nor,  on  its  painted  form  did  look 

In  worship  as  before. 

Unruffled  still  the  streamlet  flows  — 

Unchanged  the  violet  sees 
Its  form  there  mirrored  in  repose, 

Beneath  the  arching  trees; 


42  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

And  if  where  now  it  blooms,  ere  long 

Shall  be  a  lifeless  stem, 
The  stream,  and  not  the  poet's  song, 

Will  chaunt  its  requiem. 


THE   FOUNTAIN. 

Sit  down  in  this  shady  spot! 

There  's  a  blessing  in  the  shade ; 
Here  the  glaring  sun  glares  not, 

Thought  may  speak,  nor  be  betrayed. 
Hark !   that  fountain  by  the  grot. 

All  the  morn  has  danced  and  played, 

And  its  own  glad  music  made  ; 
Like  a  child 
With  rapture  wild. 

Sending  laughter  through  the  glade. 

Hear  the  pattering  of  its  feet 
On  the  rocks,  whose  flinty  hearts 

Even  thrill  and  seem  to  beat 

With  the  joy  that  touch  imparts ! 

Hear  the  waters,  joy  repeat ; 

See  the  light  which  sudden  darts 
Through  the  prism-drop,  that  parts. 
Every  ray. 
Till  from  the  spray 
Spirit-like  a  rainbow  starts. 


44  ABROAD  AND  AT   HOME. 

Close  the  eyes,  and  listen  still: 

How  the  silvery  showers  that  fall 
With  a  liquid  music,  fill 

Heart  and  soul,  and  senses  —  all ! 
Keep  the  eyelids  closed,  until 

Voices  sweet  from  Dreamland  call  — 

Soft  sylphine  sounds  enthrall 
Reason's  power, 
And  for  the  hour, 

Heaven  grows  near  —  Earth  far  and  smalL 

Evermore  the  fountain  plays. 
Evermore  its  waters  sing ; 
Evermore  from  parted  rays 

vSpiri^t-Irises  up-spring  : 
But  the  bright  showers  fall  always 

On  my  heart-chords  vibrating, 
.  And  the  melody  they  bring 
Thence  shall  last 
When  floods  are  past, 
While  the  soul's  a  livinor  thing. 


TO   THE   EAGLE. 

Imperial  bird !  that  soarest  to  the  sky, 

Cleaving   through   clouds   and   storms   thine  up- 
ward way, 
Or,  fixing  steadfastly  that  dauntless  eye. 

Dost  face  the  great  effulgent  god  of  day: 
Proud  monarch  of  the  feathery  tribes  of  air ! 

My  soul  exulting  marks  thy  bold  career, 
Up,  through  the  azure  fields,  to  regions  fair, 

Where,  bathed  in  light,  thy  pinions  disappear. 

Lo  !   where  thou  comest  from  the  realms  afar : 

Thy  strong  wings  whirr  like  some  huge  bellows* 
breath,  — 
Swift  falls  thy  fiery  eyeball,  like  a  star. 

And  dark  thy  shadow  as  the  pall  of  death ! 
But  thou  hast  marked  a  tall  and  reverend  tree, 

And  now  thy  talons  clinch  yon  leafless  limb ; 
Before  thee  stretch  the  sandy  shore  and  sea, 

And  sails,  like  ghosts,  move  in  the  distance  dim. 

Fair  is  the  scene !     Yet  thy  voracious  eye 
Drinks  not  its  beauty ;  but  with  bloody  glare 


46  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Watches  the  wild-fowl  idly  floating  by, 

Or  snow-white  sea-gull  winnowing  the  air : 

Oh,  pitiless  is  thine  unerring  beak ! 

Quick    as    the    wings    of   thought    thy    pinions 
fall,  — 

Then  bear  their  victim  to  the  mountain-peak, 
Where  clamorous  eaglets  flutter  at  thy  call. 

Seaward  again  thou  turn'st  to  chase  the  storm, 

Where  winds  and  waters  furiously  roar ! 
Above  the  doomed  ship  thy  boding  form 

Is  coming  Fate's  dread  shadow  cast  before : 
The  billows  that  engulf  man's  sturdy  frame, 

As  sport  to  thy  careering  pinions  seem ; 
And  though  to  silence  sinks  the  sailor's  name, 

His  end  is  told  in  thy  relentless  scream. 

Where  the  great  cataract  sends  up  to  Heaven 

Its  sprayey  incense  in  perpetual  cloud. 
Thy  wings  in  twain  the  sacred  bow  have  riven, 

And  onward  sailed  irreverently  proud ! 
Unflinching  bird !     No  frigid  clime  congeals 

The  fervid  blood  that  riots  in  thy  veins; 
No  torrid  sun  thine  upborne  nature  feels  — 

The  North,  the  South,  alike  are  thy  domains. 

Emblem  of  all  that  can  endure,  or  dare, 
Art  thou,  bold  Eagle,  in  thy  hardihood  ! 


TO  THE  EAGLE.  47 

Emblem  of  Freedom  when  thou  cleav'st  the  air  — 
Emblem  of  Tyranny,  when  bathed  in  blood ! 

Thou  wert  the  genius  of  Rome's  sanguine  wars,  — 
Heroes  have  fought  and  freely  bled  for  thee ; 

And  here  above  our  glorious  stripes  and  stars, 
We  hail  thy  signal  wings  of  Liberty  ! 

The  poet  sees  in  thee  a  type  sublime 

Of  his  far-reaching,  high-aspiring  Art ; 
His  fancy  seeks  with  thee  each  starry  clime, 

And  thou  art  on  the  signet  of  his  heart. 
Be  still  the  symbol  of  a  spirit  free. 

Imperial  bird !  to  unborn  ages  given  — 
And  to  my  soul  that  it  may  soar  like  thee, 

Steadfastly  looking  in  the  eye  of  Heaven, 


THE   QUAKERESS   BRIDE. 

No,  not  in  the  halls  of  the  noble  and  proud, 
Where  Fashion  assembles  her  glittering  crowd ; 
Where  all  is  in  beauty  and  splendor  arrayed. 
Were  the  nuptials  performed  of  the  meek  Quaker 
maid. 

Nor  yet  in  the  temple  those  rites  which  she  took, 
By  the  altar,  the  mitre-crowned  bishop  and  book; 
Where  oft  in  her  jewels  stands  proudly  the  bride, 
Unawqd  by  those  vows  which  through  life  shall 
abide. 

The  building  was  humble,  but  sacred  to  One 
Who  heeds  the  deep  worship  that  utters  no  tone; 
Whose  presence  is  not  to  the  temple  confined, 
But  dwells  with  the  contrite  and  lowly  of  mind. 

Twas  there,  all  unveiled,  save  by  modesty,  stood 
The  Quakeress  bride,  in  her  white  satin  hood: 
Her  charms  unadorned  by  the  garland  or  gem, 
Yet  fair  as  the  lily  just  plucked  from  its  stem. 


THE  QUAKERESS   BRFDK.  49 

A  tear  glistened  bright  in  her  dark  shaded  eye, 
And  her  bosom  half  uttered  a  tremulous  sigh, 
As  the  hand  she  had  pledged  was  confidingly  given, 
And   the   low  murmured  words  were   recorded  in 
heaven. 

I've  been  at   <^he   bridal  where  wealth  spread   the 

board, 
Where  the  sparkling  red  wine  in  rich  goblets  was 

poured ; 
Where  the  priest  in  his  surplice  from  ritual  read, 
And  the  solemn  response  was  impressively  said. 

I've  seen  the  fond  sire  in  his  thin  locks  of  gray, 
Give    the    pride  of   his   heart   to    the    bridegroom 

away; 
While    he   brushed  the    big  tear  from    his    deep 

furrowed  cheek. 
And  bowed   the   assent  which    his   lips  might  not 

speak. 

But  in  all  the  array  of  the  costlier  scene. 
Naught  seemed  to  my  eye  so  sincere  in  its  mien. 
No  language  so  fully  the  heart  to  resign, 
As    the    Quakeress   bride's  —  "  Until  death    I  am 
thine  !  " 
4 


NATURE'S   TEACHINGS. 

Comp:,  child,  upon  my  knee  ! 

The  world  is  strange ; 
Tired  of  its  sophistry, 

Let  me  exchange 
The  wisdom  of  the  great, 

To  learn  of  thee  — 
A  child,  the  kitten's  mate  — 

Life's  true  philosophy. 

Thy  heavenly-colored  eyes 

Are  wells  of  truth  ; 
In  their  blue  deepness  lies 

The  soul  of  Youth,  — 
Untutored  yet  by  Art, 

Divinely  wise, 
Dear  Nature's  counterpart, 

Taught  only  by  the  skies. 

Turn  up  to  mine  that  face, 

O  child  of  light ! 
More  now  than  Childhood's  grace 

Enchants  my  sight ; 


NATURE'S  TEACHINGS.  61 

The  wise  World  sees  not  half 

What  there  I  trace ; 
Nor  hears  more  in  thy  laugh 

Than  its  own  commonplace. 

Thank  God  for  Nature's  springs ! 

When  sick  at  heart 
Of  all  unnatural  things, 

I  turn  apart, 
Thy  spirit.  Child,  to  mine 

A  pure  draught  brings ; 
I  drink,  and  see  from  thine 

Unfold  the  Angel-wings. 


CHILDREN. 

Little  children  are  the  flowers 
By  life's  thorny  wayside  springing; 

Ever  to  this  world  of  ours 

Something  fresh  and  guileless  bringing. 

They  are  birds,  in  whose  glad  voices, 

All  the  dreary  winter  long, 
The  imprisoned  heart  rejoices, 

As  in  summer's  woodland  song. 

They  are  stars,  that,  brightly  shining 
Through  the  inner  night  of  sorrow, 

Aid  the  spirit  in  divining 

Something  hopeful  for  the  morrow. 

They  are  precious  jewels,  gleaming 
'Mid  the  cares  of  manhood's  brow  — 

Woman's  bosom  more  beseeming 
Than  the  diamond's  costly  glow. 

They  are  wreaths  of  green,  entwining 
Hoary  grandsire's  withered  brows  ; 


CHILDREN.  53 

Spring  with  autumn  thus  combining, 
Verdure  with  life's  winter  snows. 

They  are  fortune's  richest  treasure, 

Honor's  most  ennobling  fame  ; 
Sources  of  a  truer  pleasure 

Than  what  beareth  pleasure's  name. 

For  their  meed  of  soft  caressing 

Hardy  Labor  toils  with  joy; 
"  Children  are  the  poor  man's  blessing,'' 

They  his  heart  and  hands  employ. 

They,  our  only  gifts  immortal. 

Live,  when  dies  their  earthly  name  ; 

Though  we  leave  them  at  death's  portal, 
We  our  children  shall  reclaim. 


WHICH   SHALL   GO? 

A  MOTHER  sat  with  her  children  three; 

The  Angel  of  Death  drew  near: 
''  I  come  for  one  of  thy  babes,"  quoth  he,  — 
"  Of  the  little  band,  say,  which  shall  it  be  ? 
I  will  not  choose,  but  leave  it  for  thee 

To  give  me  the  one  least  dear." 

The  mother  started,  with  movement  wild, 
And  drew  them  all  close  to  her  heart: 

The  Angel  reached  forth  and  touched  the  child 

Whose  placid  features,  whene'er  she  smiled, 

Reflected  the  mother's  beauty  mild, 

"  With  this  one,"  said  he,  "  canst  thou  part  ?  " 

"  With  this  one  ?   O  Grod !    She  is  our  first-bom,  - 

As  well  take  my  life  away ! 
I  never  lived  till  that  blessed  morn, 
When  she,  as  a  bud,  on  my  breast  was  worn; 
Without  her,  the  world  would  be  all  forlorn,  — 

Spare  this  one,  kind  Death,  I  pray !  " 


WHICH  SHALL  GO?  55 

The  Angel  drew  backwards,  then  touched  again ; 

This  time  'twas  a  noble  boy: 
"  Will  it  give  thee  to  part  with  him  less  pain  ?  " 
"  Hold,  touch  him  not !  "   she  cried,  "  refrain  ! 
He 's  an  only  son  —  if  we  had  but  twain  — 

Oh,  spare  us  our  pride  and  our  joy !  ** 

Once  more  the  Angel  stood  waiting  there ; 

Then  he  gently  laid  his  hand 
On  the  shining  head  of  a  babe,  so  fair, 
That  even  Death  pitied  and  touched  with  care ; 
While  the  mother  prayed,  "  Merciful  Heaven,  for- 
bear! 

'Tis  the  pet  of  our  little  band!" 

"  Then  which  ?  "  —  said  the  Angel  —  "  for  God  calls 
one?" 

The  mother  bowed  down  her  head; 
Love's  troubled  fount  was  in  tears  o'errun  — 
A  murmur  —  a  struggle  —  and  Grace  had  won. 
"  Not  my  will,"  she  said,  "  but  Thine  be  done ! " 

The  pet-lamb  of  the  fold  lay  dead. 


THE   DYING   CHILD. 

How  calm,  how  beautiful  he  lies ! 
*Neath  drooping  fringes  shine  his  eyes, 

Like  stars  in  half  eclipse ; 
As  sunlight  falls  his  wavy  hair 
Across  that  noble  brow,  so  fair, 
That  the  blue  veins  seem  pencill'd  there, 

And  curved  by  Art  those  lips. 

No  quivering  of  the  lid  or  chin 
Betrays  the  final  strife  within  ; 

So  noiseless  sinks  his  breath, 
That  if  those  cheeks  did  not  disclose 
Life's  current  in  the  tint  of  rose 
Which,  like  a  bright  thought,  comes  and  goes, 

This  would  seem  beauteous  death. 

Already  is  the  stain  of  earth. 
The  stamp  of  his  terrestial  birth, 

Changing  for  heaven's  pure  seal; 
The  angel's  beauty  now  I  see 
Painted  in  sweet  serenity. 
And  that  unearthly  smile  to  me 

God's  signet  doth  reveal. 


THE  DYING  CHILD.  57 

But  even  here  his  guileless  life, 
His  path  with  only  flowerets  rife, 

Almost  a  cherub's  seemed ; 
He  knew  no  change  from  light  to  shade, 
His  soul  its  own  glad  sunshine  made, 
Where'er  he  paused,  where'er  he  strayed, 

Light  all  around  him  beamed. 

If  such  hath  been  his  life's  first  dawn, 
Oh,  what  will  be  the  glorious  morn. 

Just  opening  on  his  soul ! 
Favored  of  Heaven  !  to  wear  the  crown, 
Life's  weary  race  to  thee  unknown, 
And  sit  with  laurelled  conquerors  down, 

Wlio  toiled  to  reach  the  goal. 

But  fading  is  that  roseate  hue ; 
And  now  cold  pearly  drops  bedew 

That  brow  of  heavenly  mould ; 
Fainter  and  fainter  grows  his  breath ; 
Ah,  now  't  is  gone  !  Can  this  be  death  ? 
Oh,  what  so  fair  the  heavens  beneath, — 

So  lovely  to  behold  ! 


THE  YOUNG  MOTHER'S  LAMENT. 

Oh,  what  is  all  this  world  to  me  ? 

Now  that  my  babe  is  gone? 
From  every  living  thing  I  see 

The  light  of  life  has  flown  I 

It  is  not  summer  to  my  eyes, 

For  summer's  sun  is  hid; 
He  who  made  fair  the  earth  and  skies, 

Sleeps  'neath  a  coffin-lid. 

There  is  no  verdure  to  be  seen, 

No  flowers  upon  the  lea ; 
For  he  whose  smile  made  all  things  green 

Hath  no  more  smiles  for  me. 

Now  all  things  wear  the  sickly  hue 

Of  my  own  spirit  sad, 
And  nothing  can  that  charm  renew 

Which  made  the  earth  look  glad. 

Oh,  he  was  such  a  beauteous  boy, 
So  innocent,  so  fair ; 


THE  YOUNG  MOTHER'S  LAMENT.      59 

His  every  look  so  full  of  joy, 
Such  sunlight  in  his  hair! 

That  when  he  nestled  to  my  breast, 

And  looked  up  lovingly, 
I  thought  no  mother  half  so  blest 

In  all  the  world  as  I. 


But  now,  alas!   since  he  has  died, 

All  day  and  night  1  pine,  • 
And  never  was  a  heart  beside 

So  desolate  as  mine. 

Here  are  the  toys  his  little  hands 

So  sportively  would  use  ; 
Here  now  his  empty  cradle  stands,  — 

Here  are  his  tiny  shoes  : 

Take  all  away,  since  he  is  gone. 

Save  one  of  his  fair  curls, 
And  that  shall  on  my  breast  be  worn, 

Set  round  with  costly  pearls. 

But,  like  the  diamond  glistening  bright 

Upon  a  withered  wreath, 
'T  will  make  more  dreary  by  its  light 

The  wasted  heart  beneath. 


THE   FLOWERS. 

Where'er  earth's  soil  is  by  the  feet 

Of  unseen  angels  trod, 
The  joyous  flowers  spring  up  to  greet 

These  messengers  of  God. 

They  on  celestial  errands  move 

Earth  noiselessly  to  bless, 
Oft  stooping  down  in  balmy  love, 

The  flowerets  to  caress. 

And  thus  their  breath  its  fragrance  leaves 

Among  the  woodland  blooms, 
And  breathing  Sense  through  flowers  receives 

Angelical  perfumes. 

The  scarlet  or  the  crimson  tips 

Which  flowery  petals  wear. 
May  be  the  vermeil  from  the  lips 

Of  angels  painted  there. 

While  spirit-whispers  safely  lie 
Within  each  chalice  hid. 


THE  FLOWERS.  61 

That  mutely  speak  to  Sorrow's  eye 
And  lift  its  drooping  lid. 

And  all,  that  crystal,  glistening  clear 

Upon  the  tinted  leaf, 
May  be  an  angel's  holy  tear, 

Dropt  there  for  human  grief. 

For  ever  hallowed  then,  as  fair. 

Be  all  the  blessed  flowers. 
That  scent  with  Heaven's  ambrosial  air 

These  fading  earthly  bowers. 

Through  flowers  Love  finds  fit  utterance, 

And  Friendship  solace  lends; 
As  he  who  giveth  Flowers  perchance 

An  angel's  message  sends. 


GOD'S   SMILES. 

"When  Earth  from  the  great  Artist's  hand 
Arose,  symmetrical  and  grand, 

God  smiled  his  work  to  view ! 
When,  lo  !   through  that  blest  smile  of  Heaven, 
To  Earth  the  final  touch  was  given. 

And  Flowers  in  beauty  grew! 

But,  when  the  Fiend  of  darkness  saw 
God's  mighty  work,  without  a  flaw. 

Earth,  with  her  countless  flowers. 
He,  from  the  gates  of  Glory  barred. 
Frowned  black  revenge,  and  earth  was  marred 

By  his  infernal  powers ! 

Then  first  the  flowers  began  to  fade, 
Because  God's  smile  no  longer  made 

The  hills  and  valleys  glad ; 
Majestic  Nature  mourned  bereaved. 
And  all  the  blessed  Angels  grieved 

To  see  the  earth  so  sad ! 

Then  the  great  Artist  bade  his  Son 
Repair  his  master-work,  undone 


GOD'S   SMILES. 

By  the  infernal  powers : 
Once  more  God  smiled !   Earth  felt  renewed, 
And  all  the  hills  and  vales  were  strewed 

Again  with  heavenly  flowers  ! 

And  ever  since  that  blessed  hour, 
Tiie  blooming  fields,  and  every  flower 

That  decks  the  wayside  sod, 
Have  spoken  to  the  human  mind 
One  language,  beautiful,  refined  — 

The  Flowers  are  Smiles  of  God! 


TO  A  MOURNING  DOVE. 

O  FAIR  and  innocent! 
Thou  plaintive-toned,  thou  melancholy  dove ! 
That  dost  all  day  thy  lonely  lot  lament, 

And  mourn  thy  absent  Love. 

There  is  a  gentleness, 
A  touching  pathos  in  thy  tender  moan, 
That  makes  my  bosom  long  with  love's  caress 

To  softly  soothe  thine  own. 

And  does  the  sentiment 
Of  holy  love  that  downy  bosom  stir  ? 
Is  there  a  spirit  with  thy  being  blent 

That  moaneth  thus  for  her? 

For  her,  whom  thou  didst  woo, 
In  the  sweet  springtime  of  love's  solitude ; 
When,  unrestrained,  thy  winning,  melting  coo 

Charmed  all  the  listening  wood? 

For  her,  who  shared  thy  nest, 
When  man's  rough  hand  its  gentle  loves  disturbed, 


TO  A  MOURNING  DOVE.  65. 

Who  nestled  closer  to  thy  sheltering  breast, 
When  fear  her  own  perturbed  ? 

Captives,  in  one  small  cage, 
Together  ye  had  lived  and  loved  content, 
Through  half  th*  allotted  time  of  your  brief  age, 

In  sweet  imprisonment ; 

When  envious  Death  approached, 
And  saw  the  bliss  that  he  might  not  enjoy; 
So,  on  its  sacred  precincts  he  encroached. 

Determined  to  destroy. 

A  prisoner,  and  alone  ! 
The  remnant  of  thy  days  will  soon  be  spent; 
A  drop  of  thy  heart's  blood  steals  every  moan 

From  its  deep  sorrow  sent. 

Something,  lone,  turtle-dove ! 
Beyond  instinctive  grief  appeals  to  me ; 
From  that  bereaved,  and  faithful  heart  of  love  — 

A  soul  must  dwell  in  thee. 

There  's  naught  in  human  love 
That  speaks  a  sentiment  more  pure  than  thine, 
It  seems  all  birds,  all  animals  above  — 

A  love  thought  must  refine. 


^S  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

And  thee  I  cannot  name 
With    other  birds,  thou,  whom   e'en  Heaven  must 

love; 
For  when  to  Christ,  baptized,  the  Spirit  came. 

He  took  thy  form,  fair  Dove! 

A  sacred  bird  thou  art; 
Thrice  sacred  in  thy  sad,  bereaved  state  : 
But    though    each    moan    seems   pleading    to   my 
heart 

To  bring  thee  back  thy  mate ; 

In  vain  the  soft  appeal  — 
Since  I  must  leave  thee  to  thy  fate,  lone  dove! 
Though  long  thy  touching   moans   this  heart  shall 
feel, 

And  mourn  with  thee,  thy  Love. 


LOVE'S   VIGIL. 

Oh!   what  a  night  for  feeling's  flow, 

For  memory  and  love  ; 
The  moonlit  earth  all  calm  below, 

The  cloudless  sky  above ! 

The  silvery  river  rolls  along 

Majestic  through  the  vale ; 
Its  murmur  like  the  pensive  song 

Of  yon  lone  nightingale. 

And  from  her  sapphire  throne  on  high, 

Celestial  Dian  seems 
To  look  with  sympathizing  eye, 

On  me,  the  child  of  dreams. 

Whilst  mirrored  in  her  urgent  face 

Another's  gaze  I  meet, 
And  almost  feel,  in  Love's  embrace, 

Another's  heart-pulse  beat 

Mysterious  Night !  mysterious  Moon  ! 
To  melancholy  Love 


68  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Your  presence  is  a  grateful  boon  — 
A  blessing  from  above. 

For,  like  that  flower  which  from  the  sun 
Hides  all  its  sweets,  for  night, 

True  Love  the  garish  day  will  shun, 
And  seek  the  moon's  soft  light. 


LOVE  AND  DOUBT. 

'Tis  not  strange  that  Love  portrayed, 
In  fair  Childhood's  form  is  made: 
For,  indeed,  love  undefiled 
Is  in  spirit  too  a  child. 
Yielding  all  its  generous  heart. 
Without  forethought,  without  art ; 
True  itself,  and  so,  without 
Even  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

Does  the  infant  doubt  the  breast 
Where  in  dreams  he  lies  at  rest? 
Does  he  doubt  the  eye,  that,  mute. 
Speaks  what  words  may  not  dispute  ? 
Does  he  doubt  the  soft  caress 
Of  unuttered  tenderness  ? 
Thus,  Love  trusts,  but  asks  not  why, 
For  to  doubt,  would  be  to  die ! 

Where  the  doubt  is,  there's  no  love. 
Love  seeks  not  its  truth  to  prove  — 
Its  own  presence  is  the  test 
Of  the  candor  in  its  breast ; 


TO  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

For  the  truth  and  love  must  be 
Ever  an  identity : 
Love  is  then  a  child  sincere  — 
Faith,  its  food  and  atmosphere. 

Grecian  fable  Love  defined 
Not  as  child  alone,  but  blind ! 
Though  if  Love  be  blind,  it  feels 
More  than  sight  to  doubt  reveals  ; 
How  to  plant  its  harmless  dart 
In  the  sympathetic  heart ; 
How,  untouching,  to  perceive; 
How  unseeing,  to  believe. 

For  the  child,  a  god  is  too. 
Potent  both  to  will  and  do; 
So,  that  if  by  conflict  tried 
With  old  Doubt  —  the  "jaundiced-eyed" 
Love  assumes  his  godlike  form, 
Leaving  Doubt  a  vanquished  worm! 
Where  Doubt  conquers,  all  admit 
Love  was  but  a  counterfeit. 


PLATONIC   LOVE. 

Tell  me  not  that  love  ideal 

Is  a  thing  unknown  to  earth ; 
That  in  Heaven  'tis  only  real, 

Where  it  had  with  angels  birth. 
Is  it  that  this  life  terrestrial 

Naught  of  Paradise  retains  ? 
Is  there  nothing  still  celestial, 

Which  to  fallen  man  remains? 

Breathe  again,  unconscious  mortal ! 

Is  there  no  perfume  divine 
Wafted  here  from  Eden's  portal, 

Which  can   wake  that  soul  of  thine? 
Know,  that  if  thou  dost  inherit 

But  material  sense  alone. 
There  are  senses  for  the  spirit 

To  sublinier  natures  known. 

There's  a  being  immaterial. 
By  divinest  impulse  moved ; 

Which,  in  essence,  though  ethereal, 
Feels  what  sense  has  never  proved :  - 


72  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME* 

Feels  a  love  whose  bliss  supernal 

Change  and  chance  may  not  control ; 

Love,  that,  based  on  laws  eternal, 
Is  enduring  as  the  soul. 

Love,  that  for  another  living, 

Thence  is  with  new  life  supplied, 
That  all  sacrificing,  giving, 

Finds  itself  all  satisfied  : 
Satisfied,  but  never  sated, 

What  has  love  like  this,  to  gain 
From  delights  less  sublimated, 

With  their  intervals  of  pain  ? 


LOVE'S  CAPTURE  AND  ESCAPE. 

One  sunny  day  young  rosy  Love, 
For  once  unarmed  by  bow  and  dart, 

Came  like  a  downy  new-fledged  dove, 
And  nestled  gently  to  this  heart. 

When,  softly  whispering  in  my  ear, 
In  a  sweet  wooing,  silvery  tone. 

He  said,  "I've  come  to  linger  here, 
And  be  for  evermore  thine  own." 

But  well  I  knew  the  urchin's  tricks, 

How  he  from  heart  to  heart  would  roam  ; 

And  thus  contrive  his  vow  to  fix 

And  make  in  truth  my  breast  his  home: 

"  Go  first,"  I  said,  "  and  choose  a  cage, 
Where  I  may  fasten  thee  secure, 

And  with  caresses  I  '11  engage 

To  make  thy  prison  sweet  as  sure." 

Away  flew  Love,  as  swift  as  thought. 
Among  the  fairy  woodland  bowers, 


74  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

And  brought  a  dainty  cage,  inwrought 
"With  evergreens  and  bhishing  flowers. 

"  In  this,"  quoth  he,  "  now  will  I  hide, 
So  thou  but  place  it  next  thy  heart,  — 

A  willing  captive  here  abide. 

And  never  hence  from  thee  depart" 

"  So,  rover,  thou  art  caught  at  last ! 

And  I  this  cage  of  fairy  shape 
Will  make  with  silken  chains  so  fast 

That  not  a  spirit  could  escape." 

'Twas  thus  I  spoke,  more  fond  than  sure; 

For  Love  had  blinded  both  my  eyes, 
And  through  a  tiny  aperture 

Was  peeping  toward  his  native  skies. 

So,  when  the  sly,  capricious  Cheat 
Grew  weary  of  his  prison  fair. 

He  through  this  opening  made  retreat 
And  was  again  as  free  as  air. 

Whilst  I,  sweet  words,  unconscious,  said. 
Till,  hearing  no  responsive  tone, 

I  lifted  up  Love's  prison-lid, 

And  lo,  the  fickle  rogue  was  gone! 


THE   SPIRIT  OF   SONG. 

Eternal  Fame!   thy  great  rewards, 

Throughout  all  time,  shall  be 
The  right  of  those  old  master-bards 

Of  Greece  and  Italy ; 
And  of  fair  Albion's  favored  isle. 
Where  Poesy's  celestial  smile 

Hath  shone  for  ages,  gilding  bright 
Her  rocky  cliffs  and  ancient  towers. 
And  cheering  this  new  world  of  ours 

With  its  reflected  light. 

Yet,  though  there  be  no  path  untrod 

By  that  immortal  race. 
Who  walked  with  Nature  as  with  God, 

And  saw  her  face  to  face ; 
No  living  truth  by  them  unsung; 
No  thought  that  hath  not  found  a  tongue 

In  some  strong  lyre  of  olden  time ; 
Must  every  tuneful  lute  be  still 
That  may  not  give  a  world  the  thrill 

Of  their  great  harp  sublime  ? 


76  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Oh,  not  while  beating  hearts  rejoice 

In  Music's  simplest  tone, 
And  hear  in  Nature's  every  voice 

An  echo  to  their  own  ! 
Not  till  these  scorn  the  little  rill 
That  runs  rejoicing  from  the  hill, 

Or  the  soft,  melancholy  glide 
Of  some  deep  stream  through  glen  and  glade, 
Because  'tis  not  the  thunder  made 

By  ocean's  heaving  tide  I 

The  hallowed  lilies  of  the  field 

In  glory  are  arrayed. 
And  timid,  blue-eyed  violets  yield 

Their  fragrance  to  the  shade ; 
Nor  do  the  way-side  flowers  conceal 
Those  modest  charms  that  sometimes  steal 

Upon  the  weary  traveller's  eyes 
Like  angels,  spreading  for  his  feet 
A  carpet  filled  with  odors  sweet. 

And  decked  with  heavenly  dyes. 

Thus  let  the  affluent  Soul  of  Song, 

That  all  with  flowers  adorns, 
Strew  life's  uneven  path  along, 

And  hide  its  thousand  thorns. 
Oh,  many  a  sad  and  weary  heart, 
That  treads  a  noiseless  way  apart, 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  SONG.  77 

Has  blessed  the  humble  poet's  name, 
For  fellowship,  refined  and  free, 
In  meek  wild-flowers  of  poesy. 

That  asked  no  higher  fame! 

And  pleasant  as  the  water-fall 

To  one  by  deserts  bound, 
Making  the  air  all  musical 

With  cool,  inviting  sound, 
Is  oft  some  unpretending  strain 
Of  rural  song,  to  him  whose  brain 

Is  fevered  in  the  sordid  strife 
That  Avarice  breeds  'twixt  man  and  man, 
While  moving  on  in  caravan 

Across  the  sands  of  Life. 

Yet,  not  for  these  alone  he  sings; 

The  poet's  breast  is  stirred 
As  by  the  spirit  that  takes  wings, 

And  carols  in  the  bird ! 
He  thinks  not  of  a  future  name, 
Nor  whence  his  inspiration  came, 

Nor  whither  goes  his  warbled  song; 
As  Joy  itself  delights  in  joy. 
His  soul  finds  life  in  its  employ. 

And  grows  by  utterance  strong. 


THE  ADVENT. 

Peace  brooded  o'er  earth ;  in  the  distance  afar 
Had  died  the  harsh  echo  of  clangorous  war ; 
The  heart  of  the  nations  from  tumult  reposed, 
The  long  opened  temple  of  Janus  was  closed. 

Night's  canopy  over  Judea  now  hung: 
The  harp  of  the  minstrel  lay  still  and  unstrung  ; 
The  shepherds  together  sat  watching  the  fold, 
While  round  them   reigned  darkness,   and  silence, 
and  cold. 

But  whence  came  that  shaft,  than  a  day-beam  more 

bright, 
Shot  suddenly  through  the  still  heart  of  the  Night  ? 
Wliat  melody  startles  her  silent  domain. 
Awaking  the  echo  from  mountain  to  plain  ? 

All  the  pale  winter  stars  are  extinguished   as  one. 
Yet  the  light  that  conceals   them   is   not  like  the 

sun ; 
It  moves  with  the  swiftness  of  wings,  it  descends, 
While  its  luminous  track  the  strange  music  attends ! 


THE  ADVENT.  79 

But  cold  as  the  night  air  of  Israel's  plains 
The  blood  of  the  shepherds  congeals  in  their  veins  ; 
They  speak  not,  but  heart  unto  heart  beats  aloud, 
While  glory  envelopes  them  all  as  a  cloud. 

And  now,  in  their  midst,  shines  an  angel  of  light  — 
Quick  vanishes  Fear  at  the  radiant  sight ! 
And  hark,  in  the  words  of  their  own  native  tongue, 
"  Good  tidings  of  joy  "  by  the  angel  are  sung ! 

"  This  day,  in  the  city  of  David  is  born 

A  Saviour,  whose  birth  is  Redemption's  glad  morn ; 

No  longer   through   darkness   and   doubt   shall   ye 

grope, 
In  Bethlehem's  manger  lies  Israel's  Hope ! " 

A  chorus  angelic  re-echoes  in  Heaven 

The  glorious  news  to  the  meek  shepherds  given  — 

*'  Peace,  peace  and  good  will  unto  earth  ! "  is  their 

song. 
While  praises  to  God  the  loud  paean  prolong. 

'T  is    gone,    the    bright    vision  —  its    music    hath 

ceased ! 
But  lo,  there  ariseth  a  Star  in  the  East; 
O'er  the  manger  it  stands  in  its  glory  alone, — 
The  despot  beholds  it,  while  trembles  his  throne. 


80  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Oh,  awful  to  him  is  the  radiance  mild 
That  circles  the  brow  of  the  heavenly  Child! 
That  cradle  where  Innocence  sleeps  is  his  dread, 
And  Guilt  feels  the  doom  that  hangs  over  his  head* 

But  joy  to  the  watchers  of  Zion  !  that  star, 
Predicted  and  seen  by  the  prophets  afar, 
Now  points  with  its  beams  to  the  place  of  His  birth 
Whose   kingdom   shall   rule   all   the  kingdoms  of 
earth. 


LIFE'S   SHADOWS. 

4n  ill  wind  disturbeth  my  quiet, 
A  cloud  is  obscuring  the  sky; 

rts  shadow  falls  dark  on  my  spirit, 
But  upward  still  turneth  my  eye. 

The  soul  cannot  always  have  sunshine  — 
It  must,  like  the  earth  where  it  dwells, 

Be  oftentimes  sad,  when  the  shadow 
A  coming  storm  darkly  foretells. 

What,  if  the  fair  features  of  Nature 
With  sunbeams  forever  were  bright, 

Would  become  of  the  flowers  and  verdure 
That  spring  up  to  gladden  the  sight? 

The  cloud,  which  so  threateningly  lowers, 
Its  frown  in  munificence  spends. 

When  softly  in  affluent  showers 

To  the  heart  of  the  soil  it  descends. 

The  little  seed  buried,  now  quickens 
With  life  that  it  drank  from  the  shower 


2  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Shoots  up  into  being,  and  opens 
Its  blue  eye  in  shape  of  a  flower. 

And  so,  ere  the  mind's  choicest  flowers 

To  beautiful  being  are  brought, 
Must  darkness  engender  the  showers 

That  nourish  the  seedlings  of  thought. 

Clouds  are  the  disguise  of  good  angels, 

Whose  wings  spread  abroad  o'er  the  fields; 

The  darker  earth  is  with  their  shadow. 
The  richer  the  harvest  it  yields. 

So,  this  cloud  that  hangs  over  my  being. 
May  prove  as  the  shadow  of  wings. 

Which  bear  some  kind  angel  from  heaven. 
Who  blessings  disguised  to  me  brings. 

Then  let  me  not  shrink  from  the  sadness, 
That  dark  on  my  spirits  would  lie ; 

It  may  soften  the  soul  till  it  blossoms 
With  thoughts  that  are  never  to  die. 


AT   DAWN. 

AFTER   A   NIGHT    OF    SUFFERING. 

What  art  thou,  O,  mysterious  Pain  ! 

Who  livest  on  thy  victims'  tears, 
And  to  the  prisoner  in  thy  chain, 

Makest  the  moments  seem  like  years  ? 

All  night  thy  hideous  form  has  stood 
Relentless  by  this  thorny  bed — 

Watching  thy  dark,  insatiate  brood 
Plant  daggers  in  my  throbbing  head. 

The  more  I  struggled,  tossed,  and  turned, 
The  more  intense  the  anguish  grew; 

Till  all  my  blood  like  lava  burned, 
And  every  pulse  like  lightning  flew. 

Slowly  as  loaded  wheels  the  hours 

Rolled  on,  while  weary,  sad,  and  worn, 

Meek  Patience  wasted  all  her  powers 
In  looking,  longing  for  the  morn. 

And  now,  athwart  my  curtained  room. 
Gray  streaks  ar6  blending  with  the  ray 


84  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

Of  night's  lone  taper,  adding  gloom, 
Yet  welcome  as  dim  signs  of  day. 

Depart,  foul  Pain !  —  first-born  of  Sin  — 
Thou  demon  from  the  pit  of  woes ! 

And  let  Repose,  the  angel,  in, 

As  Morning's  orient  gates  unclose. 


TO   A   CELEBRATED   HARPIST: 

ON   HEARING   HIM   IMPROVISE   SPRING,   AUTUMN,   AND   WINTEB. 
I. 

Strike,  strike  the  harp  again! 
Its  chords  thy  magic  touch  obey, 
But  on  my  heart-strings  dost  thou  play; 
Thy  spirit  wakes  that  vernal  lay, 

And  mine  repeats  the  strain. 

II. 

Strike,  strike  the  trembling  chords ! 
Yet  not  from  their  vibration  springs 
The  music  which  takes  shape  and  wings 
Of  songsters,  whose  wild  carollings 

Are  joy's  unwritten  words. 

III. 

Strike,  strike!  from  out  my  heart 
Come  forth  those  warblers  —  every  tone 
Is  shaped  by  rapture  all  my  own ; 
My  soul  with  verdure  is  o'ergrown, 

And  flowers  around  me  start. 


86  ABROAD  AND  At  HOME. 

IV. 

Strike  —  thrill  me  yet  again  ! 
This  heart  is  overrun  with  sweet, 
All  Spring-time  odors  in  me  meet, 
Glad  sounds,  glad  sights  my  senses  greet 

Delight  swells  into  pain ! 


Strike,  strike  the  Autumn  dirge ! 
Lo !  now  the  flowers  begin  to  die ; 
Joy's  verdure  fades,  lone  winds  sweep  by, 
Each  carol  changes  to  a  sigh  — 

I  tread  on  Winter's  verge. 

VI. 

Hark,  now  the  wintry  roar ! 
Those  shivering  chords  a  wailing  make ; 
How  cold  that  touch!     My  senses  quake, 
O  God !  my  very  heart-strings  break  — 

Nature  can  bear  no  more! 

VIT. 

Magician  of  the  lyre  ! 
Is  all  this  through  thy  sleight  of  hand? 
Is  music  in  thy  power  a  wand 
The  human  spirit  to  command, 

As  suits  thine  own  desire? 


TO  A  CELEBRATED  HARPIST.  87 

VIII. 

No,  something  more  divine ! 
Thy  hands  fly  o'er  the  harp  like  wings, 
But  unseen  fingers  wake  its  strings, 
Not  Magic's  touch  —  'tis  Genius  brings 

Forth  melody  like  thine. 

IX. 

Go,  in  the  vernal  time, 
Go  play  beside  some  singing  rill  — 
'T  will  pause  to  listen !     Birds  shall  thrill, 
And,  with  the  charmed  air,  keep  still 

To  catch  thy  notes  sublime. 


And  when  is  hushed  the  strain. 
Delighted  Nature  shall  cry  "  Hail ! 
Welcome  to  Orpheus ! "  hill  to  dale 
Repeating  the  ecstatic  tale, 

"  The  god  has  come  again  ! " 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF^  GENIUS. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  AN  INCmENT  IN  THE  LIFE  OF   SCHILLER. 

He  paused  upon  the  river's  brink,  a  friendless  fugi- 
tive, 

And  in  despair's  wild  moment  asked,  "  Why  should 
I  longer  live? 

Deep  are  these  waters,  dark  and  cold,  but  deeper 
is  my  wo, 

And  peace,  methinks,  lies  underneath  the  river's 
tranquil  flow." 

'Twas  but  a  flash  of  sulphurous  light  from  the 
great  Tempter's  mind. 

On  sorrow's  cloud  that  sudden  gleamed,  the  poet's 
soul  to  blind. 

It  passed  like  lightning  —  and  he  saw  again  a  liv- 
ing world. 

The  teeming  land,  the  river  free,  the  snowy  sail 
unfurled. 

The  glowing  sunset,  gilding  spire,  and  mast,  and 

forest  tree. 
Shed  light  on  his  enshrouded  mind  —  he  felt 't  was 

joy  to  be  — 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  GENIUS.  89 

To  be  himself,  fair  Nature's  child,  ay,  Truth's  and 

Freedom's  own, 
Born   to   a   boundless   lieritage  —  heir  to   a  laurel 

crown  ! 

"  I  will  not  die,  but  live,"  he  said,  "  while  lives  the 

truth  divine  ; 
For  Nature  and  for  Art  I  '11  live  —  no  common  life 

be  mine ; 
This  deathless  spirit  wounded  now  in  struggling  to 

be  free. 
Shall  in  its  conscious  strength  arise  and  claim  its 

destiny  ! 

"  Not  that  the  sovereign  who  pursues  a  rebel  with 
his  frown, 

May  see  my  coronet  all  green,  when  fades  his 
ducal  crown  ; 

Not  that  the  sire  whose  wrath  condemned  his  reck- 
less son  to  shame. 

May  hail  that  son  brought  back  in  the  triumphal 
car  of  Fame  ; 

'*  But  that  I  feel  the  living  soul  of  Poesy  within, 
Urging  the  liberated  thought  its  mission  to  begin  ; 
A  work  eternal   bids   me   on  —  I  cannot,  will   not 

die, 
rill  the  vast  deep  of  human  mind  shall  unto  deep 

reply  ! " 


90 


ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 


The    traveller    to    a    foreign    clime  now    reverent 

stands  beside 
The  noble   statue   of  a   bard  a  nation's  love   and 

pride  : 
Unto  whose  living  works  both  worWs  in  admiration 

turn, 
Philosophy,  through  beauty's  form  and  music's  tone, 

to  learn. 

In  calm,  colossal   grandeur  towers   that  statue   on 

the  spot 
Where  once   a  youthful  poet  stood   to   mourn    his 

hapless  lot ; 
From  whence  he  fled  a  fugitive,  stamped  with  the 

rebel's  name, 
There   Schiller  dead,  yet    living,  speaks   his    own 

immortal  fame. 


THE   BLIND   PSALMIST. 

V  I. 

He  sang  the  airs  of  olden  times 
In  soft,  low  tones  to  sacred  rhymes, 

Devotional,  but  quaint ; 
His  fingers  touched  the  viol's  strings, 
And  at  their  gentle  vibratings 
The  glory  of  an  angel's  wings 

Hung  o'er  that  aged  saint ! 

II. 
His  thin,  white  locks,  like  silver  threads 
On  which  the  sun  its  radiance  sheds. 

Or  like  the  moonlit  snow. 
Seemed  with  a  lustre  half  divine 
Around  his  saintly  brow  to  shine, 
Till  every  scar,  or  time-worn  line 

Was  gilded  with  its  glow. 

III. 
His  sightless  balls  to  heaven  upraised, 
As  with  the  spirit's  eyes  he  gazed 
On  things  invisible  — 


92  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

,  Reflecting  some  celestial  light  — 

Were  like  a  tranquil  lake  at  night, 
On  which  two  mirrored  planets  bright 
The  concave's  glory  tell. 

IV. 

Thus,  while  the  patriarchd  saint 
Devoutly  sang  to  music  quaint, 

I  saw  old  Homer  rise 
With  buried  centuries  from  the  dead, 
The  laurel  green  upon  his  head 
As  when  the  choir  of  bards  he  led, 

With  rapt,  but  blinded  eyes! 

V. 

And  Scio's  isle  again  looked  green, 
As  when  the  poet  there  was  seen, 

And  Greece  was  in  her  prime ; 
While  Poesy  with  epic  fire 
Did  once  again  the  Bard  inspire. 
As  when  he  swept  his  mighty  lyre, 

To  vibrate  through  all  time. 

VI. 

The  vision  changed  to  Albion's  shore : 
*  I  saw  a  sightless  Bard  once  more 

From  dust  of  ages  rise ! 
I  heard  the  harp  and  deathless  song 


THE  feLIND  PSALMIST.  98 

Of  glorious  Milton  float  along, 
Like  warblings  from  the  birds  that  throng 
His  muse's  Paradise ! 

VII. 

And  is  it  thus,  when  blindness  brings 
A  veil  before  all  outer  things, 

That  visual  spirits  see 
A  world  within,  than  this  more  bright, 
Peopled  with  living  forms  of  light, 
And  strewed  with  gems,  as  stars  of  night 

Strew  diamonds  o'er  the  sea  ? 

VIII. 

Then,  reverend  saint !  though  old  and  blind, 
Thou  with  the  quenchless  orbs  of  mind 

Canst  natural  sight  o'erreach ; 
Upborne  on  Faith's  triumphant  wings, 
Canst  see  unutterable  things, 
Which  only  through  thy  viol's  strings. 

And  in  thy  songs,  find  speech. 


THE  FOUR  HANDS. 


The  first  is  poor,  and  foul  as  poor, 

By  famine  shrunk,  by  crime  stained  black  ; 

It  stretches  skinny  at  your  door  — 

You  give  it  ahns,  but  quick  shrink  back  ; 

Not  that  its  touch  begrimes  the  skin  — 

You  fear  the  plague-spot  of  its  sin. 

II. 
The  second  hath  a  clean  outside  — 
»  Soft  and  inviting  is  its  palm ; 
You  seize  it,  for  it  opens  wide^ 

But  drop  it  with  a  chill  and  qualm ! 
Well  if  you  'scape  its  sting  in  time  — 
Its  softness  is  the  serpent's  slime. 

III. 

The  third  is  tapering,  white  and  gloved: 
Its  dainty  palm  Wealth's  hand  can  hold  ; 

But  if  to  beg  lean  Want  is  moved. 
It  turns  the  back  and  grasps  its  gold : 

Worth,  Genius  strive  in  Misery's  clutch  — 

This  gloved  hand  opens  not  to  such. 


THE  FOUR  HANDS.  95 

IV. 

The  fourth  is  broad,  sunburnt  and  tough ; 

But  honest  is  its  clumsy  shake : 
Ask,  yea  despite  its  manner  rough, 

Nor  fear  whate'er  it  gives  to  take : 
Its  goodness  reacheth  to  the  bone  — 
Its  bounty  is  the  true  heart's  loan. 


AUTUMN    RAIN. 

How  I  love  the  Autumn  rain  ! 
Pattering  at  my  window  pane, 
With  a  liquid,  lulling  tone, 
As  I  sit  all  day  alone, 
Thinking  o'er  and  o'er  again 
Only  how  I  love  the  rain ! 

How  I  love  the  Autumn  rain ! 

When  it  brings  a  thoughtful  train ; 

When  in  meditative  mood 

I  enjoy  my  solitude. 

While  the  full  and  active  brain 

Works  as  busy  as  the  rain. 

How  I  love  the  Autunm  rain  ! 
When,  without  a  care  or  pain, 
I  can  dream,  and  dream  all  day, 
Or  with  loitering  Fancy  stray. 
Weaving  some  capricious  strain 
Musical  as  Autumn  rain. 

How  I  love  the  Autumn  rain! 
When  gray  twilight  comes  again : 


AUTUMN  RAIN.  9T 

When  the  flickering  hearth-flames  dance, 
While  the  shadows  dart  askance, 
Seeming  goblins  to  the  brain, 
In  the  dreary  Autumn  rain. 

How  I  love  the  Autumn  rain  ! 
Pattering  at  my  window-pane, 
When  upon  my  bed  reposing, 
Half  in  waking,  half  in  dozing. 
Then  a  dulcet  music-strain 
Seems  the  pleasant  Autunm  rain. 

How  I  love  the  Autumn  rain  ! 
Though  it  come,  and  come  again. 
Never  does  it  weary  me 
With  its  dull  monotony  ; 
Never  on  my  ear  in  vain 
Falls  the  pattering  Autumn  rain. 


THE  FROST-SPIRIT. 

The  autumn  sun  went  down  in  royal  glory, 
Tinting  the  clouds,  till  all  the  West  did  seem 

A  fairy  scene  of  Oriental  story, 

Gorgeous  and  dazzling  as  a  Peri's  dream. 

Too  soon,  alas,  the  bright  enchantment  faded. 
And  swarthy  giants  stood  against  the  sky. 

Whose  figures  here  and  there  earth  darkly  shaded, 
Till  Night  outstretched  her  ebon  canopy. 

Then,  one  by  one  were  lit  the  starry  tapers, 
And  in  the  East  a  lamp  of  silver  hung ; 

When,  noiselessly  as  rise  the  summer  vapors, 
A  Spirit  walked  the  forest  leaves  among. 

Slowly  he  passed,  on  every  green  tree  breathing. 
While  they  affrighted  not  a  leaf  did  stir, 

Though,  when   his  breath   their   branches   was  en- 
wreathing, 
Each  felt  the  chillness  of  the  sepulchre. 

But  morning  dawned :  the  sun  uprose  in  brightness, 
And   through    the    stricken    woodland    sent    his 
beam ; 


THK  FROST-SPIRIT.  99 

Wlien,  from  the  countless  leaves  a  veil  of  white- 
ness 
Glistening  a  moment,  vanished  as  a  dream. 

Those  flattering  rays,  with  warmth  the  trees  re- 
kindled, 

And  blushes  all  the  quivering  leaves  o'erspread ; 
But  unto  half  its  size  each  one  had  dwindled, 

And  that  bright  color  was  the  hectic  red. 

Yet  Nature,  like  the  glorious  dolphin  dying, 
More  beautiful  than  in  her  springtime  seemed, 

And  in  the  still  air,  while  the  woods  kept  sighing. 
They  with  a  gorgeousness  unearthly  gleamed. 

The  sober  ash -tree  stood  in  splendor  golden. 
The  maple  in  imperial  crimson  shone  ; 

And  the   strong-hearted   oak,  though   gnarled  and 
olden, 
Put  on  fantastic  colors  not  its  own. 

Each  shady  vale,  each  wood-crowned  mountain 
hoary, 

Peered  in  new  lustre  through  its  veil  of  mist, 
And  robbed  of  emerald  hues,  earth  wore  a  glory 

Lent  by  the  topaz  and  the  amethyst. 


100  ABROAD   AND  AT  HOME. 

Could  this  be  only  beauty's  hollow  semblance, 
And  seem  so  real,  so  divinely  fair  ? 

Ah,  every  scene  was  saddened  by  remembrance 
That  the  Frost-Spirit  had  been  breathing  there. 


TO  THE   DYING   YEAR. 

Old  stricken  Year !   and  must  thou  die  ? 
Methinks  I  hear  thy  waning  sigh 

Borne  on  the  wintry  blast: 
My  lamp  burns  dim,  and,  dim  with  tears, 
'My  eyes  see  shadows,  where  appears 
Thy  spectre,  moving  toward  the  years 

That  are  forever  past. 

Hark  !   through  the  darkness,  deep  and  slow, 
The  tongue  of  midnight  soundeth  now 

Thy  knell,  departing  Year! 
Mysteriously  the  numbers  roll. 
And  echo  answers  from  the  soul. 
To  every  melancholy  toll 

That  vibrates  on  the  ear. 

Hoary  and  lone,  in  childless  gloom 
Old  Year,  thou  goest  to  the  tomb 

Where  all  thy  offspring  lie : 
Fair,  budding  Spring  was  first  to  fade. 
Then  Summer's  blossoms  all  decayed. 
While  lingering  Autumn  only  staid 

Till  ripened  age  —  to  die! 


102  ABROAD  AND  AT  HOME. 

But  I  will  mourn  for  thee,  old  Year ! 
And  lay  an  offering  on  thy  bier 

In  flowers  of  poesy ; 
For  many  a  gift  hast  thou  bestowed 
Of  love,  that  fondly,  brightly  glowed, 
Until  my  swelling  heart  o'erflowed 

With  thankful  ecstasy. 

And  if  thou  ever  hast  been  stem, 
'T  was  only  that  the  soul  might  learn 

What  discipline  imparts. 
Thou,  like  a  grandsire  old  and  gray 
Hast  seemed  to  me  in  thy  decay, 
And  now  I  see  thee  borne  away 

As  when  a  friend  departs. 

But  let  a  blessing  on  me  fall, 
Departing  Year,  e'en  from  the  pall 

That  darkly  covers  thee ; 
And  lest  with  sad  remorse  I  grieve, 
This  heart  would  one  more  boon  receive. 
Approving  Memory  to  me  leave 

As  thy  last  legacy. 


THE   WOODMAN. 

He  shoulders  hfs  axe  for  the  woods,  and  away 
Hies  over  the  fields,  at  the  dawn  of  the  day. 
And  merrily  whistles  some  tune,  as  he  goes 
So  heartily  trudging  along  through  the  snows. 

His  dog  scents  his  track,  and  pursues  to  a  mark. 
Now  sending  afar  the  shrill  tones  of  his  bark ; 
Then  answering  the  echo  that  comes  back  again 
Through  the   clear  air   of  morn,   over   valley  and 
plain. 

And  now,  in  the  forest  the  hale  woodman  stands, 
His  eye  nrarks  the  victims  shall  fall  by  his  hands ; 
While  true  to  its  aim  is  the  ready  axe  found. 
And  quick  do  its  blows  through  the  woodland  re- 
sound. 

The  proud  tree  low  bendeth  its  vigorous  form, 

Whose  freshness  and  strength  have  braved  many 
a  storm ; 

And  the  sturdy  oak  shakes,  that  ne'er  trembled 
before. 

Though  the  years  of  its  glory  outnumber  three- 
score. 


104  ABROAD   AND    AT   HOME. 

They  fall  side  by  side :  just  as  man  in  his  prime 
Lies    down  with   the   locks   that   are  whitened    by 

time  ; 
The  trees  which  are  felled,  into  ashes'  will  bum, 
So  man,  by  Death's  blow,  unto  dtist  must  return. 

But  twilight  approaches.     The  woodman  and  dog 
Come    plodding    together   through    snow-drift   and 

bog; 
The    axe,  again    shouldered,    its    day's  work    hath 

done, 
The  woodman  is  hungry,  the  dog  wants  his  bone. 

Oh,  sweet  then  is  home,  and  the  evening  repast ! 
But    the    brow  of   the    woodman  with    thought   is 

o'ercast ; 
He  is  conning  a  truth  to  be  tested  by.  all, — 
That  man,  like  the  trees  of  the  forest,  must  fall. 


WINTER. 

Stormy  Winter  comes  again, 
Bringing  snow,  and  hail,  and  rain, 
Beating  'gainst  the  window  pane. 
Rudely  knocking  at  the  door ! 
Boreas  holds  to-night  a  rout : 
See  the  shutters  bolted  stout, 
Fasten  all  the  doors  about. 
Stormy  Winter  is  without  — 
,God  have  mercy  on  the  poor! 

On  the  poor,  half-clad  in  shreds, 
Through  whose  low  and  leaky  sheds 
Snows  beat  down  on  aching  heads, 

Pillowed  on  the  naked  floor ; 
He  who  looks,  may  there  behold 
Side  by  side,  the  young  and  old. 
Shriveled  arms  the  babe  enfold; 
Oh !   how  dreadful  is  the  cold  — 

God  have  mercy  on  the  poor ! 

Iron-hearted  Winter  comes! 
Knocks  in  vain  at  costly  domes, 


106  ABROAD  AND  AT   HOME. 

But  he  searches  through  the  homes 
Scattered  on  the  frozen  moor: 

There  no  shutters  bolted  tight, 

Fasten  out  the  stormy  night; 

There  no  hearth  is  blazing  bright ; 

Oh  !   how  desolate  the  sight  — 
God  have  mercy  on  the  poor ! 

See  that  famished  infant  prest 
To  the  fond,  but  empty  breast. 
While  its  mother  bends  distrest, 

Dropping  tears  upon  the  floor: 
Thou  who  hear'st  the  raven's  cry, 
Here  look  down,  with  pitying  eye  — 
Send  them  manna  from  the  sky ; 
Let  the  birds  their  bread  supply  — 

God  have  mercy  on  the  poor ! 

Hearts,  that  all  encased  in  gold, 
Self-enriching  have  grown  old, 
Who  have  never  felt  the  cold, 

Once  unbar  your  bosom's  door! 
Let  Compassion  now  go  forth. 
Learn,  what  ye  to  learn  were  loth, 
That  no  luxury  of  earth 
Half  true  bounty's  joy  is  worth  — 

Oh,  have  mercy  on  the  poor! 


WINTER.  107 

Hark!   the  storm  is  raging  yet: 
Who  beside  his  fire  can  sit, 
And  the  sufferer  forget 

Shivering  on  a  frozen  moor? 
Ye,  who  downy  pillows  press, 
Ye,  whose  limbs  sofl  robes  caress, 
Pity  and  relieve  distress ! 
Oh,  the  storm  is  pitiless  — 

God  have  mercy  on  the  poor! 


ODES. 


ODES 


TO   THE  MOON. 


TRIADS  have  sung  thy  praise, 
Fair  Dian,  virgin-goddess  of  the  skies  ! 
And  myriads  will  raise 
Their  songs,  as  time  yet  onward  flies, 
To  thee,  chaste  prompter  of  the  lover's  sighs. 

And  of  the  minstrel's  lays ! 
And  still  exhaustless  as  a  theme 

Shall  be  thy  name, 
While  lives  immortal  Fame, 
As  when  to  people  the  first  poet's  dream, 
Thine  inspiration  came. 


II. 


None  ever  lived,  or  loved, 
Who  hath  not  thine  oblivious  influence  felt, 
As  if  a  silver  veil  hid  outward  things, 

While  some  bright  spirit's  wings 


112  ODES. 

Mysteriously  moved 
The  world  of  fancies  that  within  him  dwelt : 
Regent  of  Night !  whence  is  this  charm  in  thee, 
Which  sways  the  human  soul  with  potent  witchery  ? 

III. 
When  first  the  infant  learns  to  look  on  high, 

While  twilight's  drapery  his  heart  appals, 
Thy  full-orbed  presence  captivates  his  eye ; 
Or  when,  'mid  shadows  grim  upon  the  walls, 
Are  sent  thy  pallid  rays, 
Tis  awe  his  bosom  fills, 
And  trembling  joy  that  thrills 
His  tiny  frame,  and  fastens  his  young  gaze. 
Thy  spell  is  on  that  heart. 
And  childhood  may  depart. 
But  it  shall  gather  strength  with  youthful  days ; 
For  oft  as  thou,  capricious  moon, 
Shalt  wax  and  wane. 
He,  now  perchance  a  love-sick  swain. 

Will  watch  thee  at  night's  stilly  noon, 
Pouring  his  passion  in  an  amorous  strain : 
Or,  with  the  mistress  of  his  soul. 

Lighted  by  thy  love-whispering  beams. 
In  some  secluded  garden  stroll. 
Bewildered  in  Elysian  dreams  ; 
Nor  once  suspect,  while  his  full  pulses  move. 
That  thou,  whom  tides  obey,  may'st  turn  the  tide 
of  love ! 


TO  THE  MOON.  118 


IV. 
The  watcher  on  the  deep, 

Though  weary  be  his  eye, 
Forgets  even  downy  sleep, 
When  thou  art  in  the  sky. 
For  with  thine  image  on  the  silvery  sea, 
A  thousand  forms  of  niemory 

Whirl  in  a  mazy  dance  ; 
And  when  he  upward  looks  to  thee, 

In  thy  far-reaching  glance 
There  is  a  sacred  bond  of  sympathy 
'Twixt  sea  and  land; 
For  on  his  native  strand 
That  glance  awakens  kindred  souls 

To  kindred  thought. 
And  though  the  deep  between  them  rolls, 
Hearts  are  together  brought ; 
While  tears  that  fall  from  eyes  at  home, 

And  those  which  wet  the  sailor's  cheek. 
From  the  same  sacred  fountains  come, 
The  same  emotion  speak. 


The  watcher  on  the  land. 
Who  holds  the  burning  hand 
Of  one  whom  scorching  fever  wastes, 
Beholds  thee,  rising  moon. 


11.4  ODES. 

With  reddened  face,  expanded  in  the  east, 
Till  Superstition  chills  his  breast, 

WTiile  tremulous  he  hastes 
To  draw  the  curtains  as  thou  joumeyest  on  : 
But  when  the  far-spent  night 
Is  streaked  with  dawning  light, 
Again,  to  look  on  thee. 
He  lifts  the  drapery. 
And  hope  divine  now  triumphs  over  fear. 

As  in  the  zenith  far 
A  pale,  small  orb  thou  dost  appear, 
While  eastward  rises  morn's  resplendent  star. 
And  Fancy  sees  the  passing  soul  ascend 
Where  thy  mild  glories  with  the  azure  blend. 

VI. 

Even  on  the  face  of  Death  thoii  lookest  calm, 
Fair  Dian,  as  when  watchful  thou  didst  keep 
Love's  holy  vigils  o'er  Endymion's  sleep. 
Drinking  the  breath  of  youth's  perpetual  balm. 
Thy  beams  are  kissing  now 
The  icy  brow 
Of  many  a  youth  in  slumber  deep, 

Who  cannot  yield  to  thee 
The  incense  of  Love's  perfumed  breath. 
For  no  response  gives  Death ! 

Ah,  'tis  a  fearful  sight  to  see 
Thy  lustre  on  a  human  face 


TO  THE  MOON.  115 

Where  the    Promethean   spark   has  left  no 
trace  ! 
As  if  it  shone  upon 
The  marble  cold, 
Of  that  famed  ruin  old, 
The  grand,  but  empty  Parthenon. 

VII.      * 

Dian,  enchantress  of  all  hearts, 

While  mine  in  song  now  worships  thee. 
From  thy  far-shooting  bow  the  silver  darts 

Fall  thick  and  fast  on  me : 
Oh,  beautiful  in  light  and  shade. 
By  thee  is  this  fair  landscape  made! 
.  Gems  sparkle  on  the  river's  breast. 
Now  covered  by  an  icy  vest; 
Upon  the  frozen  hills 

A  regal  glory  shines ; 
And  all  the  scene  as  Fancy  wills. 
Shifts  into  new  designs. 
Yet  night  is  still  as  Death's  unbroken  realms, 

And  solemnly  thy  light,  wan  orb,  is  cast 
Through    the    arched   branches  of  those   reverent 
elms, 
As    though    it   through    the   Gothic    windows 

passed 
Of  some  old  abbey  or  cathedral  vast. 


116  ODES. 


vin. 
In  awe  my  spirit  kneels, 

And  seems  before  a  hallowed  shrine ; 
Yet  not  the  majesty  of  Art  it  feels, 

But  Nature's  law  divine  ; 
The  presence  of  her  mighty  Architect, 

Who  piled  these  pyramidal  hills  sublime. 
Which  still,  pure  moon,  thy  radiance  will  reflect, 
And  still  defy  the  crumbling  touch  of  Time ; 
Who  built  this  temple  of  gigantic  trees. 
Where  Nature's  worshipers  repair 
To  pray  the  heart's  unuttered  prayer. 
Whose   veiled    thought   the   great  Omniscient 
sees. 

IX. 

Oh,  I  could  wonder,  and  adore 

Religious  Night,  and  thee,  her  queen, 
Till  golden  Phoebus  should  restore 

His  splendor  to  the  scene ! 
But  the  same  natural  laws  control 

Thy  motions  and  the  poet's  will ; 
So  that  while  tireless  roves  the  soul. 

This  actual  life  must  weary  still. 
Oh  then,  inspirer  of  my  song, 

While  close  these  eyes  upon  thy  beams, 
Watching,  amid  thy  starry  throng. 

Be  thou  the  goddess  of  my  dreams. 


TO  THE   SEA. 


Vain  would  it  be 
To  summon  from  the  grave  Time's  first-born  year, 

Thine  age  to  tell,  oh,  hoary  Sea ! 

Or  vainer  still  to  question  thee  ; 
For  in  thy  voice  alone  I  hear 

Eternity  !   Eternity  ! 

II. 
Before  ethereal  light's  first  dawn, 
Ere  earth's  primeval  day  was  born, 
The  evening  and  the  morn, 
"  God's  spirit  moved  upon  the  waters'  face : " 
Had  they  eternally  in  darkness  rolled, 

Filling  the  universal  space. 
And  unto  reigning  Night  their  mysteries  told  ? 

in. 
Oh,  how  omnipotent  that  voice 
Which  from  the  land  divided  thee. 
Which   said,  "Here   stayed   let   thy  proud   billows 
be!" 
And  how  did  they  rejoice 


118  ODES. 

When  light  from  ebon  darkness  first 
In  its  full  glory  on  them  burst! 

How  did  thy  caverns,  yawning  sea, 
Reverberate  with  hoarse  astonishment 
When  breathing  life  was  through  them  sent  — 

When  finny  tribes  there  glided  gracefully, 
Exulting  in  their  native  element ; 
Or  spouting  monsters  first  were  made, 
Which  all  the  watery  realms  as  monarchs  swayed ! 

IV. 

Stupendous  mountains  from  thy  shore  upreared; 
Majestic  rivers  were  through  valleys  sent, 
And  mighty  cataracts  thundering  went 
O'er    rocks,  whose    jutting   peaks   like   towers   ap- 
peared ; 
Mysterious  forests  moved  unto  the  wind, 
As  sway  to  unseen  powers  thy  waves ; 
And  dismal  as  thy  secret  caves, 
Were  labyrinths  under  arching  boughs  entwined : 
Ay,  all  created  things  were  great  as  "good," 

And  yet,  on  all,  save  thee, 
Was  "  The  Beginning  "  written — while  thy  flood 
Spake  audibly  its  own  Eternity! 


And  beautiful  were  hills  and  vales. 

And  lakelets  sleeping  'neath  the  cloudless  blue, 


TO   THE   SEA.  119 

And  groves  stirred  gently  by  the  summer  gales, 

And  flower-enameled  fields  of  every  hue  ; 
But  nothing  in  the  six  days'  work  was  made, 

In  wonderment  to  equal  thee  — 

Thou  pre-existent  sea ! 
In  which  all  charms  of  Nature  were  displayed, 
Each  reigning  in   God's  chosen  time  — 
The  beautiful,  the  tranquil,  the  sublime. 


Creation  now  is  old : 
Ages  on  ages  since  its  birth, 

Like  thy  successive  tides,  have  rolled, 
Sweeping  off  nations  from  the  earth  ; 
But  chronicled  on  history's  page 
Is  every  buried  age ; 
Whilst  thou,  unchronicled,  dost  never  deign 
To  keep  with  Time  a  reckoning,  peerless  Main  ! 


VII. 

What  are  to  thee 
The  millions  that  have  perished  in  thy  flood, 
The  navies  that  have  dyed  thy  breast  with  blood, 

Remorseless  Sea  ? 
The  broken  hearts  that  weep  upon  thy  shore 
For  lost  ones,  which  in  vain  their  tears  deplore  — 
For  treasures  that  thy  depths  will  not  restore? 


120  ODES. 

What  is  the  wealth  of  life,  or  shining  dust, 
That  venturous  man  gives  thee  in  trust, 

When  once  in  reckless  wrath 
Thou  challengest  the  winds  of  heaven  ? 
They  to  thy  monsters'  jaws  are  given, 
While  on  thy  trackless  waves  they  leave  no  path. 

vm. 

Thou,  overwhelming  Sea! 
That  unto  the  bereaved  a  terror  art. 

Dost  plaintive  language  speak  to  me, 
Softening  my  inner  heart; 
I  hear  an  under-tone, 
A  low,  complaining  moan, 
From  far  beneath  the  surface  sent, 
Between  thy  bursts  of  boisterous  merriment : 
Such  music  ever  on  thy  shore 
The  poet's  soul  may  hear  — 
Tones  thought-suggesting  lingering  in  his  ear; 
Or  scenes  of  beauty,  changing  evermore, 
His  sight  entrance, 
As  sunset's  glance 
Crimsons  thy  far-stretched  surface  o'er; 
Or  as  fair  Morning's  opening  eyes 
The  waters  tinge  with  saffron-dyes ; 
Or  Dian's  beams  across  the  wave 
A  pathway  of  pure  silver  pave : 


TO  THE  SEA.  121 

And  oh,  when  in  their  stormy  majesty, 

Thy  free,  wild  billows  tower  above  control, 
How  the  sublimest  sense  of  poesy 
O'erpowers  the  soul. 

IX. 

Thou  solemn,  ever-sounding  Sea ! 

Still,  as  I  linger  at  thy  side, 
I  hear  that  word,  Eternity, 
From  every  swelling  tide : 
God  only  knows  thy  ancient  date  — 
He  keeps  the  records  of  thy  fate  ; 
And  though  thou  heedest  not  man's  trump  of  fame. 

And  with  one  wave 
Canst  wash  from  off  the  sands  of  Time  his  name, 
And  hide  from  sight  his  grave  ; 
There  is  a  trumpet  that  will  summon  thee 
To  yield  thy  hoarded  dead,  sepulchral  Sea ! 
And  when  the  angel  of  all  time  shall  stand, 
"  One  foot  on  sea  and  one  on  land," 
Thy  waves  will  tremble  to  their  farthest  shore 
As  sounds  his  oath  that  "  Time  shall  he  no  morey 


TO   BEAUTY. 


Bright  emanation  of  divinity ! 

Pervading  spirit  of  the  universe ! 
Soul  of  all  thought  that,  linked  to  harmony, 
Mind's    realm  can   people    with   fair   shapes   di- 
verse ; 
Co-equal,  co-existent  twin  of  truth, 
Blooming,  like  Hebe,  in  immortal  youth. 
Yet  ancient  as  eternal  years; 
Thou  who  inhabitest  celestial  spheres. 

And  since  through  space  their  music  rang, 
As  they  Creation's  birthday  sang. 
Hast  earth  in  forms  unnumbered  trod. 
And  left  the  flowers,  thy  footprints,  in  the  sod : 


Smile  now  on  me  ; 
Thy  living  presence  let  me  see, 

Thine  unveiled  loveliness  behold 
With  all  a  poet's  ecstasy. 
In  phases  manifold! 
O'ershadow  me,  as  did  the  Infinite 

The  sacred  Virgin,  —  let  my  brain  conceive 


TO  BEAUTY.  123 

And  bring  such  breathing  offspring  to  the  light, 
As  with  thine  image  shall  thy  name  receive. 

III. 

Ethereal  Beauty  !   not  until  thy  spirit 

Came,  a  pure  effluence  from  the  breath  of  God. 
Did  blooming  Nature  youthful  joy  inherit, 
Or  the  Creator  call  creation  "  good  ; " 
Not  till  thy  glory  crowned  the  mountain's  brow. 
Covered  the  valleys  o'er  with  green. 
In  the  blue  firmament  was  seen, 
In  sparkling  fount,  or  streamlet's  flow, 

Or  in  the  golden  wings 
Of  countless  birds,  whose  carolings 
Saluted  first  the  bending,  listening  skies, 
Did  angels  look  and  smile  on  Paradise;  — 

IV. 

On  Eden,  thy  fair  dwelling-place. 
Where  thou  incarnate  didst  become 

In  woman's  perfect  form  and  face 
Light  of  love's  sinless  home ! 
No  marvel  is  it  then,  that  still 
Thine  earliest  bodily  shape  at  will 
Thou  dost  assume,  to  bless  earth's  eyes 
With  glimpses  yet  of  Paradise  ; 
For,  thanks  to  Heaven,  whose  incensed  word, 
Whose  flaming  sword 


124  ODES. 

Against  the  hapless  pair  were  sent, 
Thou  with  them  didst  remain, 
The  all  of  Eden  that  they  might  retain. 
And  half  beguile  the  woe  of  banishment. 


Destruction  could  not  thee  destroy; 
Thou  wentest  forth  upon  the  white  dove's  wing, 
Over  death-peopled  floods,  a  living  thing, 
Bright  harbinger  of  joy ! 
In  the  olive  leaf  of  green, 
Pledge  of  peace,  thy  smile  was  seen ; 
To  the  Iris,  spanning  heaven, 
All  thy  hues  of  light  were  given. 
And  the  power  of  Beduty's  form 
In  that  arch  subdued  the  storm. 

VI. 

Ay,  from  Time's  birth  till  now. 
Through  every  shifting  scene. 
Thou  hast  been  Nature's  queen. 

Her  glittering  stars  upon  thy  brow. 
And  silver  orb  serene ; 

Seasons  have  passed  in  rapid  flight, 

Whilst  thou  the  same,  forever  bright, 
Hast  only  changed  with  them  thy  dress, 

Robing  in  colors  now,  and  now  in  white, 
Thy  native  loveliness. 


TO  BEAUTY.  125 


VII. 

See  Spring  advancing  with  her  flowery  train, 
She  looks  the  queen,  but  owns  thy  sovereign  reign  ! 
The  azure  of  her  eye 
Is  thy  cerulean  dye  ; 
\  The  plumage  that  her  songsters  wear 
Was  painted  by  thy  pencil  fair ; 
The  rose's  tint,  the  lily's  form. 
The  shining  wings  that  lift  the  worm, 
The  blossoms  decking  every  tree, 

The  clover  springing  in  the  fields, 
Each  blade  of  grass  that  shoots  up  free, 
And  every  flower  the  wayside  yields, 
Are  but  expressions  all  of  thee ! 

VIII. 

The    summer  shower,  that   makes   the  corn  re- 
joice. 
The  harvest  waving  to  the  soft  southwest ; 
The  little  brook  that  lifts  its  tuneful  voice. 
And     bids    the     laborer    drink    and    be    re- 
freshed ; 
The  sportive  lightning  of  the  evening  cloud. 
Playing    with    Jove's    bright    weapons    harm- 
less freaks  ; 
The    fire-flies,   that    with    stars    the    night    air 
crowd. 


126  ODES. 

And  glow-worm's  light,  that  through  the  crevice 

breaks, 
All  bring  thy  radiance  to  the  visual  mind. 
And  he  who   these  beholds,  and  sees  thee  not,  is 

blind ! 

IX. 

The  Autumn  leaves,  before  they  pass  away, 

A  richer  glory  wear, 
That  thou  for  dying  Nature  dost  prepare;  — 
The  golden  hue  of  setting  day, 
Or  crimson  blush, 
Like  hectic  flush 
Upon  the  wasted  cheek; 
For  even  death  through  thee  doth  speak. 
And  life's  low  orb  illume  the  waiting  shroud, 
As  Autumn's  sinking  sun  makes  beautiful  the  cloud. 


When  Winter  over  earth  a  pallor  brings. 

Thou  lightest  up  the  wan  and  cheerless  scene 
With  the  effulgence  of  thy  smile  serene. 

And  makest  real  all  unreal  things  ; 
Covering  the  leafless,  frozen  stems 
With  snow-wreaths  or  resplendent  gems. 
And  indurating  all  the  streams, 
Till  each  a  crystal  pathway  seems, 

So  that  e'en  Nature,  in  her  shroud  of  white, 


TO   BEAUTY.  121 

With  thy  undying  radiance  still  is  bright; 
Whilst  thou  in  splendor,  to  delusive  sense, 
Art  greatest  then,  though  least  in  true  munificence. 

XI. 

The  hoary  Deep  is  in  thy  presence  young, 
What  time  fair  breezes  sweep  the  waves  along, 
Or  sway  with  undulating  motion 
The  tranquil  bosom  of  the  ocean, 
Or  when  its  phosphorescent  light 
Illumes  the  curtain  of  the  night ; 
Nor  can  the  wrathful  demon  of  the  storm 

Chase  thee  in  terror  from  the  frantic  waves, 
On  whose  white   crests   still   towers  thy   radiant 
form, 
Pointing  to  heaven,  above  a  sea  of  graves. 
The  cataract's  glory  is  thine  own. 
Its  ceaseless  flood  thy  moving  throne  ; 
Thou  art  the  spirit  of  the  spray. 
Robed  in  the  splendor  of  the  day. 
Or  melting  into  mist  away; 
Then  reappearing  with  the  full-orbed  moon, 
A  silver  arch  at  night's  mysterious  noon. 

XII. 

And,  Beauty,  not  through  Nature  s  forms  alone 

To  shaping  Art  are  thy  impressions  given  ; 
Thy  intellectual  light  to  him  is  shown 


128  ODES. 

Whose  soul  of  genius  up  to  thine  hath  striven ; 
He,  too,  with  vision  more  intense 
Beholds  thee  than  the  eye  of  sense, 
And  makes  the  marble,  with  thy  features  wrought, 
Speak  at  his  touch  thy  deep,  unwritten  thought! 

XIII. 

Absent  from  natural  sight  thy  form  may  be, 
Yet  rise  a  model  to  the  painter's  mind, 

As  Aphrodite,  from  the  foamy  sea. 
Rose  the  ideal  fair  of  womankind : 

Enraptured  by  the  vision,  now  his  hand 

Wields  not  the  pencil,  but  th'  enchanter's  wand ; 

See,  at  its  movement,  how  the  canvas  glows, . 

Till  from  dead  form  thy  living  presence  grows ! 
The  artist  to  his  own  creation  kneels,  — 
'T  is  thy  divinity,  O  Beauty !   that  he  feels. 

XIV. 

So  blends  thy  spirit  with  the  soul  of  Art, 

So  Art  immortal  must  become, 
And  with  its  presence  bear  Devotion's  heart 
Upward  to  Beauty's  home, — 
To  heaven,  whence  thou  wert  only  sent 
As  earth's  refining  visitant : 
And  when  the  vocal  spheres. 
That  welcomed  Nature's  birth 
With  high,  harmonious  mirth, 


TO  BEAUTY. 


129 


Her  dirge  shall  sing  in  the  Eternal's  ears, 
Thou,  Beauty,  from  earth's  sepulchre  shalt  rise 

A  radiant  spirit  to  the  skies. 
To  grace  thy  native  Heaven  for  evermore, 
And  Art  to  the  great  Architect  restore. 


TO   HEALTH. 


Rkvivifting  Power! 
Invisible,  save  in  the  mantling  cheek, 
Whose  roses  fresh  thy  living  presence  speak, 

Bright  soul  of  Beauty's  bower! 
Redundant  giver  of  all  vital  wealth, 
Where  art  thou,  ruddy,  radiant,  jocund  Health  ? 


Goddess  divine ! 

Once  could  I  call  thee  mine  ; 
Oh !  blessed  hours,  when  with  the  morning  lark 
My  soul  to  thy  rejoicing  call  might  hark  ; 

When  life,  renewed  again, 

Rioted  in  each  vein. 

And  to  my  bounding  feet 

I  sprang  at  thy  drum-beat, — 
The  pulses  of  a  heart  with  ecstasy  replete ! 

III. 

Then  didst  thou  lead  me  forth 
To  brush  from  flowery  chalices  the  dew, — 
To  fill  my  eye  with  beauty  opening  new 

In  the  awakening  earth  : 


TO   HEALTH.  131 

Then  not  a  bird  that  soared  on  high, 
Felt  more  the  liberty  of  wings, 
Or  more  exulted  in  his  carolings. 
Than  in  young  life  and  freedom's  bliss,  did  I! 


IV. 

Each  joy  of  Nature  was  renewed  in  me : 
Her  rising  sun  was  Hope, 
Which  all  my  future  path  did  ope 
With    golden    prospects,    that     gleamed    daz- 
zlingly ; 
The  fountain's  leaping  jet, 
The  dance  of  rivulet, 
Were  the  ecstatic  motion  of  my  frame ; 
The  cooing  of  the  dove 
Was  the  low  voice  of  love, 
That  from  my  bosom  came ; 
The  song  of  every  bird 
An  echo  in  me  stirred ; 
And    all    my   mind   with    budding   thought  was 

rife. 
As    fields  where  laughing   blossoms    sprung    to 
life. 

V. 

But  now  alas,  I  pine. 


Thou  art  no  longer  mme ! 


132  ODES. 

No  more  thy  angel,  downy  Sleep, 
Gently  my  eyelid  presses, 
Nor  in  his  soft  caresses 
From  troubled  dreams  my  rest  will  keep: 
No  more  thou  comest  at  the  dawn 
To  lead  me  forth  on  dewy  lawn. 
To  bid  my  heart  with  rapture  swell. 
And  through  each  thrilling  fibre,  tell 
The  earth,  the  air,  the  sea,  the  sky, 
They  are  not  happier  than  I ! 
The  Spring  is  beauteous  as  of  yore, 

And  Nature,  multiform, 
Bursting  to  verdure  as  before, 
Gladness  to  all  things  doth  restore  — 

To  beast,  to  bird,  to  worm  : 
And  yet  to  me,  her  face  seems  shaded, 
A  glory  from  the  earth  hath  faded: 
Oil,  't  is  not  changed,  this  soul  in  me, 

Which  joyous  tones  no  longer  stir; 
For  as  I  've  been,  I  still  must  be 

Nature's  devoutest  worshiper. 


VI. 

It  is  this  mortal  makes  the  spirit  blind? 

This  tenement  which  thou,  O  Health,  hast  left. 
Through  whose  dull  windows  only  can  the  mind 

Look  on  the  earth,  and  so  it  seems  bereft 


TO   HEALTH.  188 

Of  half  the  beauty  that  I  felt 
Once  in  its  hills  and  valleys  dwelt. 
Fain  would  I  now  go  forth  at  eventide 
To  watch  some  pensive  streamlet  glide, 
Or  join  in  Nature's  vesper-hymn 
As  twilight's  shadows  gather  dim, 
Sending  my  everting  prayer  on  high 
Ere  Dian  lights  anew  the  sky  ; 
But  even  this  melancholy  joy 
No  longer  is  my  blest  employ  : 
The  tenant  stern  that  came 

With  thy  departure,  Health, 
Taking  possession  as  by  stealth, 
Of  this  slow-wasting  frame, 
Forbidding  barriers  to  its  doors  hath  given, 
That  shut  me  from  the  free,  the    blessed    air   of 
heaven. 

VII. 

Oh,  liberating  Health! 
Giver  of  truest  wealth. 
Alike  dispensed  to  body  and  to  mind, 

Unto  thy  prostrate  suppliant  list. 
Thou  friend  of  Freedom  and  mankind, 
Heaven-sent  philanthropist ! 
Come  yet  again  to  me. 
And  set  a  prisoner  free, 
Who,  fettered  by  disease,  pines,  pines  for  liberty ! 


184  ODES. 

VIII. 

For  freedom  such  as  fills  the  sky-lark's  wings, 
Forever  soaring  heavenward,  while  he  sings 
A  song  that  gladdens  still  the  earth 
Where  all  his  downy  loves  have  birth: 
For  freedom,  like  the  wild  flower's  bliss, 
Imparted  by  the  breeze's  kiss  — 
By  the  broad  sun's  enlivening  ray. 
That  shines  for  all  the  livelong  day. 
And  by  the  genial  showers,  that  fall 
With  life-restoring  gifts  for  all. 

IX. 

Come,  Health,  and  close  the  yawning  tomb, 
Re-tinge  my  fading  cheek  with  bloom. 
And  earth  again  shall  blossom  as  the  rose ; 

The  hill,  the  vale,  the  glen, 

Smiling  anew,  will  then 
Their  countless  beauties  unto  me  disclose. 
Aurora  shall  be  worshiped  as  before. 
And  sunset  paint  me  fairy  scenes  once  more ; 

With  youthful  Spring 

I  '11  dance  again 
To  Nature's  lute  of  finest  string. 

Touched  by  her  feathered  train ; 
With  Summer's  insects  hum  a  tune, 
And  sip  the  flowery  sweets  of  June ; 


TO   HEALTH.  135 

Or  hail  the  crimson  and  the  purple  dress 
Of  Autumn,  in  his  regal  gorgeousness. 

X. 

Earth's  choicest  blessings  now 
In  vain  their  smiles  bestow, 
Since  thine  is  lost  which  brightened  all : 
For  what  is  Love  without  thy  rosy  light  ? 
A  bodiless  spirit  of  the  night  — 
Spectre  of  past  delight, 
"Whose  sensuous  form  is  hidden  by  a  pall. 
And  what  is  Childhood's  voice, 

That  made  the  mirth-attuned  ear 
And  the  glad  heart  rejoice  ? 

The  rinorinoj  of  some  festive  bell 
To  the  lone  prisoner  in  his  cell ; 
The  sound  of  reckless  laughter,  near 
The  soul  of  Grief — the  falling  tear, 
And  measured  step  of  Woe  behind  the  bier. 

XI. 

Thou  Life  of  life,  thou  Joy  of  joy,  — 
Theme  that  might  every  pen  employ ! 

Bright  sun  of  being,  whose  reviving  ray, 
Like  April's,  bringeth  from  decay 
Flowers  that  make  glad  the  face  of  day ! 
Shine,  shine  on  me  ! 

Oh,  permeate  this  heart's  sterility. 


136  ODES. 

And    bring    forth     blossoms    in    the    light    of 
heaven, 
Whose  redolence  to  Love  and  Friendship  shall  be 
given  ! 

Let  me  have  power  to  bless 
The  hearts,  whose  warm  caress 
Should  all  love's  rapture  in  my  own  revive; 
But  how  can  the  unblessing  spirit  thrive  ? 
Since  he  who  cannot  pleasure  give, 
By  Nature's  changeless  law,  no  pleasure  can  receive. 

XII. 

O  faculty  divine ! 
Joy,  that  imparting,  still  receiveth  joy ! 
And  shall  Disease's  worm   the  power  destroy? 
And  still  my  spirit  pine 
In  vain,  for  Freedom's  wings, 
Nor  feel  replenished  life's  well-springs. 
That  joy  may  overflow,  and  bless 
All  whom  I  love  with  happiness  ? 
Exuberant  Health  !  through  every  purple  vein 
Send  thy  fresh,  vital  current  yet  again; 
Set  on  elastic  springs  once  more 
This  languid  frame,  and  let  each  pore 
Be  unto  thee  an  entrance-door. 

XIII. 

Then  shall  my  soul  unfettered,  gushing  forth, 
A  living  fountain  be  of  grateful  song, 


TO   HEALTH.  137 

Rising  to  heaven  its  source,  then  showering  earth, 

Till  on  its  borders  green  a  flowery  throng 
-Of  fragrant,  fair  affections  spring  to  birth. 

And,  Goddess  of  the  nectared  cup  divine ! 
A  lay  of  thanks  I  pledge  to  thee 
In  pure  Olympian  wine  ; 
And  though  it  lack  the  soul  of  poesy, 

The  deathless  soul,  that  ancient  poets  fired, 
By  Gratitude's  warm  spirit  shall  it  be, 

If  not  immortal,  none  the  less  inspired. 


TO   POESY. 


Oh,  whence  and  what  this  influence, 

That  silent  and  mysterious  moves  the  soul ; 

Or  sways,  as  with  •  imperial  control. 
The  realm  of  Beauty  and  domain  of  Sense? 

Spirit  invisible,  thyself  proclaim ! 

We  call  thee  Poesy,  and  love  the  name ; 

"But,  like  that  Power  which  stirs  the  air, 

Thou  art  unseen,  though  everywhere. 
Stirring  the  fliculty  divine 
Of  deathless  thought  —  of  shaping  intellect, 
Till  its  creations  Heaven's  fair  forms  reflect, 

And  with  imperishable  glory  shine. 

n. 

Oh,  I  have  felt  thee  in  the  secret  place, 
Dark  with  the  shadow  of  thy  wings, 
Yet  starry  with  imaginings 
Which  thine  electric  presence  woke ! 
Yea,  I  have  met  thee  face  to  face. 
But  saw  no  form,  nor  voice  the  silence  broke. 
While  mystic  language  to  my  spirit  spoke. 


TO   POESY.  139 

III. 
When  but  a  worm,  encrusted  by  the  shell 

Of  rigid,  cumbrous  Form,  oppressed  by  Fear, 
Like  Sim  and  dew  thine  effluence  on  me  fell, 
Then,  quickening,  the   enfranchised   soul   rose 
clear, 
And  felt  itself  by  wings  upborne 
Into  the  glorious  morn 
Of  a  new  being,  earnest,  real,  free ; 
Then  had  I  ears  to  hear,  and  eyes  to  see. 
And  oh,  then  first  I  knew  and  worshiped  thee. 
My  liberator  —  my  inspirer,  Poesy  ! 


For  thou  to  me  art  not  the  airy  spirit 
Of  Gracefulness  alone, 

Giving  to  empty  words  a  music-tone  ; 
Captive  unto  dulcet  measures. 
Making  Fancy's  world  of  treasures ; 

Nor,  as  a  halo  o'er  things  outward  thrown ; 

But  the  deep  inner  gift  that  I  inherit  — 

For  which  to  Heaven  high  gratitude  I  own  — 

The  power  that  can  in  its  own  nature  find 

That  which  can  fathom  all  the  human  mind. 

V. 

Inspiration  is  thy  name ! 
Fire,  that  from  the  vital  flame 


140  •  ODES. 

Of  the  empyrean  came, 
Kindling  the  hoary  prophets  of  past  days, 

^¥hen  visions  of  the  future  they  beheld  ; 
While  with  its  fervid  warmth  the  bards  of  eld 
Glowed,  as  their  lyres  sent  forth  undying  lays. 
From  the  altar  of  the  soul 

Touched  by  thee, 
Clouds  of  sweetest  incense  roll 
Up  to  Immortality : 
Divinest  frenzy  overpowers  the  brain  — 
It  reels  inebriate  to  its  own  wild  strain ! 
What  are  the  drug's  exciting  fumes, 
The  rapturous  lunacy  of  wine. 
To  that  ecstasy  divine 
Which  all  the  brow  with  light  illumes, 
When  once  thou  dost  the  soul  inspire 
With  thy  pure,  inextinguishable  fire ! 

VI. 

Hence !  ye  who  never  felt 
The  quickening  pulses  of  a  poet's  bliss ; 

Who  on  the  mount  of  vision  never  dwelt. 
Nor  visited  in  dreams  a  world  save  this ; 
Who,  strangers  to  the  realms  ideal. 
See  in  the  actual,  the  real; 
Oh,  come  not  near  the  secret  of  their  joys 
Wlio  walk  the  earth  unconscious  of  its  dust, 
While  coining  gold  no  "moth  nor  rust," 


TO  POESY.  141 

Nor  cankering  time  destroys ! 
Who  live  on  "  angels'  food,"  —  but  eat  perchance  a 
crust,  — 

And  idle  seem, 
As  those  who  dream, 
While  work  eternal  their  great  thought  employs. 

VII. 

Alas,  celestial  Poesy! 
That  minds  profane  with  scornful  thought  should 

dare 
To  desecrate  the  temple  where 

Thy  spirit  may  indwelling  be.  , 

As  if  the  poet's  brain  were  but  a  shrine 

Where  images  fantastic  dwell ; 

Where    Sense   and    Reason,   through    some 
spell. 
To  vain  idolatry  their  powers  resign. 


O  Poesy,  transforming  Poesy ! 
Spiritual  alchymist  —  't  is  thine 

To  transmute  the  material  that  we  see, 
To  immaterial  essences  divine  : 
Thy  laboratory  is  the  mind, 
In  which  corporeal  elements,  refined 

Through  the  Imagination  are  infused 
Into  the  rarer  elements  of  soul, 


142  ODES. 

To  be  again  by  Thought  creative  used 
In  some  harmonious  work  of  art, 
Where  every  fitting  part 
Blendeth  in  union  with  the  perfect  whole. 

IX. 

Thy  voice  mysterious  I  hear 
From  the  deep  heart  of  earth  ;  from  every  flower 

Its  music  sings  to  the  accordant  ear, 
No  less  than  when  its  thunder-tone  of  power 
From  ocean's  depths  inspires  sublimest  fear : 
It  is  thy  breath,  sweet  Poesy, 
^  That,  like  to  zephyrs  soft  as  free, 

Stirs  the  ^olian  harpstrings  of  the  soul, 
Moistening  even  the  stoic's  eyes 
With  such  potent  melodies. 
As  sway  all  passions,  and  all  hearts  control. 

X. 

The  poet  holds,  through  thee,  a  royal  claim 
On  whatsoe'er  beneath  the  impartial  sun 
His  ravished  vision  rests  upon  : 

Ye,  who  fields  of  affluence  show. 
And  see  in  them  your  golden  fame, 

Who    boast    your     blooming    landscapes  — 
know. 
They  're  only  yours  in  name  ! 
The  bard's  enraptured,  all-absorbing  eye 


TO  POESY.  143 

Drinks  in  their  effluent  beauties,  which  his  soul 
With  a  perpetual  verdure  will  supply; 
His  grasping  mind  retains 
The  wealth,  whose  sordid  gains 
Alone,  through  life's  brief  lease  your  hands  con- 
trol : 
Ye    see    but   hills,   and  vales,   and   groves,    and 
streams, 
Whereon    are    shadows    of   your    greatness 
thrown  ; 
He   sees    Truth's    harmony,  that   through    them 
beams  — 
That  by  affinity  elective  is  his  own.  ^ 

XI. 

But  when  thy  spirit  o'er  the  deep 

Of  mental  darkness  moves, 
From  Chaos  into  light  and  being  leap 

Far  brighter  worlds  than  this, 
Where  free  the  poet's  vision  roves  — 
The  land  of  Dreams  is  his ! 
There  in  the  mazy  walks  of  Allegory 
He  weaves  the  intricate,  prophetic  story. 
Where    baleful     passion,    breeding    blood     and 
crime, 
Through  wars  destructive  storms  ; 
Or  the  redeeming  virtues,  chaste,  sublime, 
Embodied  rise  in  breathing  forms. 


144  ODES. 

So  in  deep  visions  rapt  Isaiah  portrayed 
The  star-watched  scenes  that  were  in  Bethlehem 
laid; 

So  He,  whose  birth 
There  blessed  rejoicing  earth 
Through  parables  made  truth  divine 
With  ray  convicting  shine, 
As  through  the  concentrating  glass 
With  burning  potency  the  sunbeams  pass : 
So  whether,  Poesy,  thou  dost  inspire 
The  loftier  story  of  the  epic  lyre, 
Or  sing  in  mystic  fables  through  the  brain, 
Truth,  which  thou  art,  is  still  the  key-note  of  thy 
strain. 


TO   TIME. 


Pause,  rapid  Charioteer  !  • 

Rein  in  the  winged  coursers  that  propel 

Thy  rolling  car  along  this  nether  sphere; 
Look  back  o'er  trampled  centuries,  and  tell 
The  history  of  thy  ravaging  career ! 

In  vain  —  no  pause  in  thy  progressive  flight ! 
Twin-born  with  alternating  Light, 
Yet  unto  thee  the  same  are  day  and  night ; 
Onward  thy  chariot  through  darkness  speeds. 
Onward  at  morn  still  press  thy  tireless  steeds. 

II. 
But  mightier  than  swift  thy  course,  O  Time ! 

Thou  scatterest  broadcast  the  seeds 
Which  grow  to  cities,  empires,  arts  sublime, 
O'ermastering  science,  and  illustrious  deeds. 
Creator,  and  destroyer  thou ! 
To  thee  the  monumental  tower  uprears  ; 
To  thee,  too,  sacred  temples  bow  ; 
Thy  mouldering  touch  lays  low 
What  Genius  planned,  what  Art  reveres; 
10 


146  ODES. 

Even  pyramids,  the  pride  of  untold  years, 
By  thee  are  doomed  to  crumble  sure  as  slow. 

ni. 

Successive  nations  are  the  harvests  ripe 

Which  thy  wide-sweeping  scythe  cuts  down, 
For  Death  to  gather  in,  with  icy  gripe, 
^  And    garner,   whilst    earth's  fields   are   newly 
sown. 
Summon  thy  buried  ages,  Time! 
From  east  to  west,  from  south  to  north  — 

From  every  kingdom,  every  clime. 
Bid  shades  of  centuries  come  forth. 
They  come!   they  come  ! 
A  mighty  throng 
Stretched  far  along  — 
In  mailed  armor  some; 
Some  wrapt  in  clouds  of  mysticism ; 

Some  in  impervious  shades  of  error. 
Some  with  the  brazen  front  of  Atheism, 

And  bloody  tokens  of  the  reign  of  terror ; 
Some  bearing  grotesque  forms  of  Superstition ; 
Some  bloated  with  a  sensual  creed, 
And  some,  from  doubt  and  falsehood  freed. 
All  radiant  with  Truth's  unclouded  vision. 

IV. 

"The  Golden  Age,"  gleams  out  afar, 
Through  mists,  as  shines  a  distant  star: 


TO  TIME.  147 

Brightest  and  first  of  ages,  when 
Immortals  dwelt  with  mortal  men ! 
Perpetual  Spring  adorns  with  flowers 
Its  verdurous  vales,  its  blissful  bowers ; 
Titanic  shapes  in  grandeur  tower. 
And  Saturn  reigns  supreme  in  power  : 
Fair  was  thy  youth,  O  Time  !  though  now. 
Hoary  and  scarred,  wrinkled  and  sere  art  thoji ! 

V. 

See,  from  the  borders  of  the  dingy  Nile 

Thy  firstborn  age  of  Art  arise  ! 
Whose  monster-gods,  whose  unclean   rites  defile 
The  sculptured  stone,  the  massive  pile. 
Which  still  salute  the  skies  : 
Brief  age,  whose  arts  outlive  in  fame 
A  race  that  in  a  day  rose,  and  extinct  became. 

VI. 

But    lo,  from    Greece    comes   forth    thy  pride  of 

ages  ! 
A  long  array  of  poets,  conquerors,  sages, 

Anew  to  life  and  glory  start, 
Led  on  in  triumph  by  immortal  Art : 

How  radiantly  they  shine. 

Circled  by  gods  and  nymphs  divine,  — 

Hail,  Classic  Age,  the  palm  is  thine! 

The  Muses  follow  in  thy  train, — 

Fair  Poesy  is  young  again; 


148  ODES. 

Arcadian  vales  their  bloom  renew, 
And  sacred  groves  and  streams  refresh  the  view : 
Chaste  columns  stand 
In  majesty  how  grand ! 
O  desecrating  Time  — 
Despoiler  of  all  works  sublime ! 
How  did'st   thou   dare    invade    fair     Greece,  that 
hallowed  clime  ? 

VII. 

Conqueror  of  conquerors,  thou  ! 
Imperial  Rome's  proud  Eagle  tried 
In  vain  to  conquer  thee  —  in  vain  defied 

Thy  sweeping  car  to  bow 
In  dust  its  spreading  wings  of  pride : 
One  cycle  of  thy  wheels  rolled  by  — 
And   Rome's   aspiring  bird  no  longer  cleaves  the 
sky! 

VIII. 

Thou  ravager  of  all  material  charms ! 

Pleasure  and  Pride  thy  wrinkling  touch  alarms ; 

Beneath  it  fade  the  tints  of  cheek  and  lip  — 
The  roundness  mutable  of  outward  form, 

And  all  the  sweetness  that  young  Love  would 
sip. 
By  thee  are  destined  for  the  worm. 

Alas !  the  dewy  bud  no  sooner  swells, 


TO  TIME.  149 

Opening  in  fragrance  to  the  full-blown  rose, 
Than  the  rich  veins  upon  its  leaves  disclose 
The  purplQ  ripeness  which  decay  foretells: 
Thy  law  yields  Beauty  but  one  little  day; 
Thy  passing  breath 
Consigns  to  death 
All  loveliness  that  blossoms  in  its  way; 
But  inborn  beauty  shall  defy  thee,  Time, 
And  bloom  above  thy  grave  in  an  unfading  clime. 

IX. 

So  Genius  triumphs  o'er  thy  might, 

And,  in  its  heaven-aspiring  flight, 
Above  thy  devastating  car  will  soar 

Into  the  limitless,  the  infinite, 
There  still  to  live,  when  "  Time  shall  be  no  more !  '* 

For  thou,  effective  healer  of  all  woe, 
Great  humbler  of  all  human  pride. 

Whose  wheel  of  fortune  lifteth  up  the  low, 
And  levels  slave  and  monarch  side  by  side ; 
When  all  thine  ages  drop  into  the  tomb. 
Thyself  must  perish  in  the  final  doom ; 
The  angel's  oath  is  destined  then  to  be 
The  knell  that  drowns  thee  in  Eternity. 


THANKSGIVING  ODE. 


Tell  me,  O  Muse  !  if  yonder  punctual  sun 

Greets  with  his  universal  beams 
An  earthly  sight  so  fair  to  look  upon, 

One  that  so  pure,  so  worthy  Heaven  seems 
As  a  great  people  of  all  sects,  all  ranks. 
In  the  sublime  employ  of  giving  thanks  ? 
Or,  does  high  Heaven  a  savor  smell  more  sweet 

Than  grateful  incense  from  the  general  heart, — 
That  smoke  in  which  the  breath  of  millions  meet, 
To  which  the  humblest  soul  may  lend  a  part? 
Ye  myriads,  who  in  bright  array 
Surround  the  Eternal's  throne  to-day  — 
Ye,  the  redeemed  from  every  tribe  of  earth. 
Who  sing  the  glories  of  your  second  birth! 
What  is  so  near  the  echo  of  your  song. 
As  strains  which  unto  gratitude  belong? 
What  is  so  like  the  ecstatic  lays 
Which  sinless  joy  inspires, 
Chanted  forever  by  angelic  choirs. 
As  thanks  that  human  lips  upraise,  — 
What  blendeth  heaven  with  earth,  like  Praise? 


THANKSGIVING  ODE.  151 

II. 
Praise  !  the  first  note  that  charmed  the  Universe  — 
With  whose  glad  melody  the  concave  rang 
When  morning  stars  together  sang ! 
May  we  then,  in  these  later  years  — 
Unblamed  may  human  tongues  rehearse 
The  music  of  the  spheres  ? 
Oh  hail,  the  privilege  !  the  day  that  brings 
For  man's  divinest  thought  celestial  wings; 
That  gives  to  grateful  impulse  flight 
Up  to  the  Fount  of  life  and  light, 
The  Source  of  every  earthly  good  — 
The  moving  soul  of  gratitude  ! 

III. 

A  myriad-stringed  lyre 

Would  fail  in  numbers  to  relate 

The  blessings  which  to-day  we  celebrate  — 
That  might  an  angel's  harp  inspire ! 
Oh  where  shall  finite  thought  commence 

To  trace  the  number  infinite  ? 
Or  measure  the  circumference 

Of  God's  united  gifts,  that  rise  to  sight 
Piled  as  a  mountain,  towering,  immense! 


IV. 


Existence  is  itself  a  joy 

To  thousands,  who  forget  to  give 


152  ODES. 

Praise  for  the  air  that  lets  them  live; 
To  use  the  free  breath  given 

In  gratitude  s  employ, 
Giving  it  back  again  in  thanks  to  Heaven. 

Father  Supreme ! 
This  day  remembrance  of  life's  gift  revives, 
And  who  will  fail  to  bless  Thee  that  he  lives 
That  life  is  real  —  not  a  dream ! 


Hygeia,  blooming  goddess !  thou 

Art  here  with  roses  on  thy  brow, 
To  grace  our  feast,  and  with  approving  smile 
Sweetenest  the  ruddy  fruits,  the  while, 

Which  fair  Pomona  gives; 
Bidding  her  from  the  fragrant  vine 
Bring  jucy  grapes,  pure  Nature's  wine. 

That  best  the  heart  revives. 
For  every  luxury  which  Autumn  yields, 
For  gathered  harvests  from  the  affluent  fields. 
For  all  the  needful  ministers  of  sense. 
Meek  Gratitude,  be  thou  Heaven's  recompense. 

VI. 

And  thanks,  deep  thanks,  for  intellectual  gifts ; 
For  all  that  over  sense  the  soul  uplifts  ; 
For  food  that  mental  strength  supplies. 
The  nourishment  of  thought, 


THANKSGIVING  ODE.  153 

From  Truth's  rich  storehouse  brought, 
Or,  that  in  universal  Nature  lies ; 
For  Beauty,  whose  o'ershadowings 
Throw  on  the  mind  fair  forms  of  outward  things, 
As  to  the  deep  and  tranquil  lake  are  given 
The  radiance  and  the  changeful  clouds  of  heaven. 
For  inborn  beauty,  which  can  throw 
A  lustre,  a  superior  glow 
On  each  external  thing,  — 
The  spirit's  matchless  coloring, 
Its  own  ethereal  hues. 
Through  which  the  eye  surrounding  Nature  views. 

VII. 

And  oh,  for  holy  Love! 
The  heart,  from  its  outgushing  well, 

Poureth  libations  to  the  God  above. 
Who  sees  emotions  that  no  words  may  tell; 
For  "  God  is  love,"  and  love  refined, 
An  emanation  from  his  effluent  mind  — 
The  purest  sentiment  that  reaches  humankind ; 
Chief  of  the  Graces !   in  whose  nature  meet 
All  virtues  —  every  good ; 
Thou  who  didst  o'er  our  hearth-stones  brood, 
Guarding  each  social  sweet ! 

Still  as  a  guardian  bend  above  us, 
Still  as  a  holy  impulse  move  us ; 
This  day  expand  our  hearts,  that  we,  receiving, 


154  ODES. 

May  give  again,  and  "Want  and  Woe  relieving, 
Best  prove  our  gratitude  for  Thee ; 
Thou,  who  by  either  name. 
Forever  art  the  same. 
Opening  the  heart  as  Love  —  the  hand  as  Charity ! 

VIII. 

Thou,  too,  Love's  fairest  offspring,  heavenly  Peace ! 
Theme  of  the  welcome  song 
By  angels  warbled  to  the  shepherd  throng. 
How  thy  mild  harmonies  our  strains  increase! 
A  nation's  heart  thy  praise  would  sing, 
And  grateful  tribute  for  thy  blessings  bring : 

No  clarion-peal, 
Serenest  Peace,  dost  thou  inspire ; 

But  'tis  thy  spirit  that  I  feel 
Stirring  the  softer  lyre ! 
Still,  as  the  year's  brief  seasons  passed, 

Thine  olive-leaf  hath  crowned 
Our  festal  pleasures  to  the  last. 
And  still  our  borders  with  thy  flowers  abound. 

IX. 

The  exhaustless  theme  of  praise 

Outswells  all  limits  and  all  lays ! 
Oh  for  the  harp  that  Israel's  songster  swept, 

Whose  tones  sublime, 
To  Inspiration's  lead  majestic  stept, 


THANKSGIVING  ODE.  155 

And  with  Heaven's  bounty  ever  kept 

Harmonious  time  ! 
"  Give  thanks !  give  thanks  ! "  that  bard  inspired 

yet  cries, 
"  Give  thanks ! "   all   Nature  with   one  voice  re- 
plies ; 
This  swelling  heart  alone 
For  full  expression  vainly  tries, 

Awaking  no  responsive  tone 
Meet  to  convey  emotion  to  the  skies; 
The  song  of  praise  which  it  uplifts, 
An  insect's  whisper  seems  by  life's  great  gifts ; 

But  thanks  to  God  All-wise! 
Feeling  that  here  the  feeblest  voice  can  raise. 
Full  utterance  shall  find  in  Heaven's  eternal  praise. 


ODE   ON   HEAVEN. 


Blest  land  of  promise !  from  what  Pisgah  height 

May  the  entranced,  the  upborne  spirit  see 
Thine  immaterial  glories  opening  bright, 

And  far  extending  to  immensity  ? 
Fair  Canaan's  land  of  living  springs, 

Of  palm-crowned  hills,  of  verdant  plains, 
Of  olives,  figs,  and  almond-blossomings. 

Of  milk  and  honey,  wine,  and  ripened  grains. 
Only  a  feeble  type  can  be. 

To  aid  the  soul's  imaginings 
Of  that  celestial  clime  which  none  may  see 
Until  divested  of  mortality. 

H. 

But  fruits,  like  Eshcol's  grapes,  are  sent 

From  that  far  promised  home  — 
A  solace  to  earth's  pilgrims  lent, 

A  foretaSte  of  the  sweets  to  come : 
The  weary  soul  drinks  in  new  wine 

From  these  rich  clusters  of  delight  — 


ODE  ON  HEAVEN.  157 

The  juices  of  the  heavenly  vine, 
And  feels  the  influence  divine 

Of  sacred  vineyards  yet  beyond  his  sight 

III. 

Heaven,  charmed  word!  comprising  all 
That  heart  desires,  that  thought  conceives, 
Or  faith  in  the  unseen  believes ; 
Sum  of  delights  that  never  pall, 

Rejoicing  more,  the  more  the  soul  receives ! 
We  ask  not  Heaven's  locality. 
We  ask  riot  if  a  place  it  be  ; 
Enough  to  know  that  'tis  a  state 
Of  purity  immaculate, 
Of  freedom,  blessedness  supreme, 

Wherein  the  ransomed  soul  indeed  is  free, 
Which  here  of  liberty  did  only  dream. 
While  groaning  in  corporeal  slavery. 

IV. 
Heaven  is  deliverance  from  corruption's  stain; 
It  is  man's  primal  glory  to  regain  — 
Fair  and  eternally  to  shine 
An  image  of  the  perfect,  the  divine : 
Heaven  is  an  absence  from  repulsive  mind, 

From  uncongenial  fellowships  of  earth  ; 
It  is  association  free,  refined. 

With  spirits  of  co-equal  birth : 


158  ODES. 

Heaven  is  exemption  from  encumbering  care; 
It  is  in  that  sublimer  work  to  share, 
For  which  brief  intervals  the  spirit  found 
'Mid  human  life's  dull  weary  round : 
Heaven  is  relief  from  every  pain  — 

From  weakness,  from  decay  ; 
It  is  unfailing  strength  to  gain. 

And  youth's  unfading  day  : 
Heaven  is  release  for  those  who  weep ; 

It  is  to  have  God  wipe  away  all  tears, 
And  harvests  full  of  joy  to  reap 

From  seed  by  sorrow  watered  lingering  years ; 
Heaven  is  to  dread  no  more 

The  strife  of  parting  breath  ; 
It  is  to  gain  the  victory  o'er 

That  last  grim  monster.  Death  ! 
Heaven  is  to  change  all  woe  for  weal, 

Nor  fear  that  wasting  time  will  bliss  destroy  ; 
It  is  immortal  life  to  feel 

In  every  bounding  pulse  of  joy ! 


Heaven  is  perpetual  peace : 

Its  pure,  progressive  joys  begin 
When  to  the  soul  earth's  tumults  cease; 
When  distant  is  the  din 
Of  troublous  throngs  — 
Of  babbling  Babel-tongues ; 


ODE  ON  HEAVEN.  159 

When  from  the  whirling,  whizzing  wheels 

Of  daily  toil  the  mind  is  clear ; 
When  ribaldry,  profanity,  and  laugliter-peals, 

No  longer  vex  the  ear ; 
When  no  discordant  sound  or  scene 
Breaks  in  upon  the  soul  serene ; 
Then  to  its  satisfaction  will  be  given 
The  rest,  the  true  repose  of  Heaven. 

VI. 

Heaven  is  the  perfectness  of  love : 

Its  warm  outgoings,  full,  and  free 

From  selfishness,  or  weak  inconstancy ; 

Its  sweet  incomings,  sweeter  yet  to  be, 
Oft  as  the  spirit  their  delights  shall  prove: 

If  love,  where'er  to  mortals  given. 
Can  make  a  heaven  of  earth. 

Then  love  the  essence  is  of  Heaven, 
Immortal  in  its  birth,  — 

A  part  of  the  pervading  soul  above, 

For  God  himself  is  Love. 

VII. 

These  are  the  grateful  glimpses  given, 

But  not  the  all  in  all  of  Heaven ! 

Ah !  where  shall  faith  fit  language  find. 

Or  how  the  Muse  supernal  rise 

To  sing  the  higher  ecstasies 
Of  full  communion  with  the  Eternal  mind ! 


160  ODES. 

If  only  veiled  Mortality  can  gaze 
Upon  the  earth-descending  rays 

Of  Heaven's  intenser  glories, 
Which  sometimes  do  the  ravished  spirit  meet 
When,  at  the  cherub-guarded  mercy -seat, 

It  enters  to  the  Holiest  of  holies ! 
What  a  full  flood  of  radiant  light  will  be 
The  beatific  vision  it  shall  see, 
When  mortal  weakness  all  is  past,  — 
When  Godhead's  presence  fills  its  vast. 

Its  infinite  capacity! 
What  joy,  what  adoration  will  it  feel. 
When  Heaven  the  Father's  brightness  shall  reveal 
In  Him,  whose  sacrifice  and  righteousness 
Purchased  such  endless,  such  consummate  bliss ! 

VIII. 

And  is  there  not  a  Heaven  below, — 

An  oasis  in  earth's  wide  moral  waste. 
Where  trees  immortal  grow. 

And  fruits  divine  the  soul  may  taste? 
Wherever  pure  affection  taketh  root, — 
Where'er  truth's  living  well  is  found. 
Where  seeds  of  faith  and  hope  do  upward  shoot,  — 
Where  true-born  sympathies  abound, 
Or  spirit  doth  the  sense  control. 
That  spot  is  heavenly  ground; 
A  watered  garden,  fragrant,  fair, 
Within  a  human  heart  is  there,  — 


ODE  ON  HEAVEN.  161 

A  heaven  is  in  that  soul : 
There  love,  joy,  goodness  in  the  germ  may  be, 
Yet  each  shall  grow  to  immortality. 

IX. 

But  hark!  a  voice  behind  me  speaks, ^ — 
It  saith,  "In  spirit  rise,  and  see 

That  New  Jerusalem  the  pilgrim  seeks, — 
A  symbol  of  the  Heaven  to  be ; " 
And  lo  !  to  me  — 

As  unto  him  who  did  on  Patmos  stand  — 
The  eternal  city's  gates  of  pearl  unfold, 
Its  walls  of  jasper,  and  its  streets  of  gold, 
Rise,  like  a  vision  glorious  to  behold. 

By  precious  stones  of  every  color  spanned : 
There  the  pure,  crystal  river  flows. 
And  there  the  tree  of  life  for  healing  grows ; 

No  light  of  sun,  nor  moon,  nor  lamp  I  see, 

But  the  full  radiance  of  the  Deity ! 
Celestial  city!  who  would  fear 
To  cross  death's  river,  deep  and  drear, 
When  just  beyond  its  turbid  tide 
Thy  shining  gates  stand  open  wide  ? 

Fair  vision !  sense  through  thee  receives 

Types  of,  what  sublimated  faith  conceives 

Of  glories  ne'er  to  sight  material  given,  — 

The  pure  ideal  of  the  perfect  Heaven. 
11 


TO  NIGHT. 


How  solitary  was  thy  reign, 

Daughter  of  Chaos,  ancient  Night ! 
Ere,  at  the  word,  "Let  there  be  light," 
A  beam  ethereal  rent  thy  veil  in  twain. 
That  word  pervading  silence  broke. 
Darkness  in  terror  fled,  and  Day  awoke, 
Thence  to  divide  with  thee  the  throne 
Where  thou  hadst  reigned  supreme  alone: 
No  longer  joyless,  childless,  thou, 

With  ungemmed  brow. 
Didst  silent  sit  and  brood 
Over  a  shapeless  solitude ; 
When  none  thy  right  imperial  might  dispute. 
Thou  wert  inglorious,  as  absolute ; 
But  with  thy  power  divided,  by  degrees 
Arose  thy  starry  fame ;  — 
Mother  of  the  Hesperides, 
Is  still  thy  fabled  name  ! 
Ah,  mother,  too,  of  Mystery  and  the  Fates  — 

Of  Discord,  Dreams,  and  Death ; 
Of  captious-minded  Momus,  who  creates 
The  faults  he  ridicules  with  noxious  breath  ; 


TO  NIGHT.  163 

Mother  of  Fraud,  and  its  uncomely  mates, 
Whose  spirits   haunt    each    spot  the   heavens 
beneath. 

II. 
These  are  thy  offspring.    But,  O  matron  Night  I 

Thou  art  the  mother  too  of  musing  Thought; 
Of  downy  Sleep,  that  bringeth  soft  delight. 

That  is  with  visions  infinite. 

And  viewless  blessings  fraught ; 
Of  calm  Devotion,  whose  high  hope 
Dwells  where  thy  stars  their  worlds  of  glory  ope  ; 

Of  Love,  that  shuns  the  day, 

And  wonders  where  the  moonbeams  stray, 
Or   in    thy  shadow   hides   its    treasured    dream 
away ! 

III. 
Mysterious  Night !  —  once  deified  as  Nox, 
What  art  thou  but  a  paradox  ? 
Of  Innocence  the  natural  friend,  and  foe ; 

The  enemy,  yet  friend  and  shield  of  Crime ; 
The  propagator,  and  defence  of  Woe ; 

The  shortener,  and  the  lengthener  of  Time. 
How  childhood  shrinks  from  thee! 
How  flutters  his  young  heart  to  see 
Thy  mantle  slowly  fall, 
Covering  the  earth  as  with  a  pall ! 


164  ODES. 

Then  Fancy,  Argus-eyed,  awakes, 
And  myriad  shapes  the  darkness  takes  ; 
Till  wearied  shuts  the  dewy  lid, 
Beneath  a  covering  safe  hid. 

IV. 

Nor  less  is  Guilt  dismayed 
By  the  same  darkness  that  his  crime  may  shade ; 
From  thy  sepulchral  gloom. 
Which  yields  the  murderous  deed  a  tomb, 
Its  spectre  rises  up  with  bloody  eyes, 
Whose    redness   even  the   blackness  round  him 

dyes ! 
Thy  shadow,  covert  of  his  lurking-place, 
Is  now  Revenge,  pursuing  where  he  flies; 
And  on  thy  dense,  o'erhanging  wall, 
A  fiery  finger  seems  to  trace 
The  doom  that  doth  his  soul  appall! 

V. 

*T  is  to  the  stricken,  unaccusing  heart, 
That  thou,  congenial  Night,  a  solace  art ; 

Thy  shadow  seems  the  angel-wing 

Over  its  sorrow  hovering  ; 
Thy  steadfast  stars,  the  open  eyes 
Of  Heaven,  unto  the  mind  revealing 
That  watchful  love  which,  still  all-wise, 
Its  end  in  distance  is  concealing : 


TO  NIGHT.  165 

And  oft  the  eye  of  Faith  discovers 
The  guardian  spirit  which  close  hovers, 
Listening  in  silence  to  the  prayer, 
Whose  burden  it  to  Heaven  shall  bear. 

VI. 

Love  blesses  thee  ;  yet  clippest  thou  the  hours 

Of  stolen  fondness  in  ambrosial  bowers : 
Scarce  seems  thy  curtain  overspread, 
Shutting  in  words  in  whispers  said. 

Ere  young  Aurora,  with  intrusive  eye, 

Peeps  out  her  warning  from  the  eastern  sky. 
The  couch  of  absent  Love  thou  blessest, 
Giving  endearments  back  in  dreams ; 

On  Beauty's  lip  the  nectared  kiss  impressest, 
And  all  the  sweet  illusion  real  seems : 
For  hapless  Love  thou,  Night  unkind, 

A  leaden  weight  upon  the  hours  dost  bind, 
And  rob  the  bosom's  lonely  nest 
Even  of  downy  sleep  ; 

So,  that  the  mourning-dove  can  find  no  rest, 
And  must  with  Grief  sad  vigils  keep. 

VII. 

Day  is  no  mate  for  thee, — its  honest  sun 
Hides  not  e'en  motes  that  revel  in  it-s  ray; 

It  brings  to  light  what  was  in  secret  done  — 
Melting  the  covert  of  thy  mists  away : 


166  ODES. 

Day  no  confederate  can  be 
Of  Treachery  or  Crime  ; 

The  foe  of  Opportunity, 

It  never  did  present  like  thee, 
To  "Wrong  the  fitting:  time : 
It  leaves  the  fratricidal  blood 

Where,  on  the  sunny  slope  *twas  spilt, 
Till  from  the  ground  it  calls  to  God 

For  vengeance  on  the  brow  of  Guilt ! 
Whilst  thou  weep'st  dew  to  wash  away  the  stain, 
And  buriest  out  of  sight  the  relics  of  the  slain. 

VIII. 

Yet  art  thou  glorious,  sovereign  Night! 
The  constellations  gem  thy  crown ; 
The  virgin  goddess  decks  with  silver  light, 

Thy  sombre  robes ;   and  all  allegiance  own, 
Suddued  by  thy  mysterious,  solemn  might. 
But  none  so  loyal  as  the  Poet's  heart. 
For  thou  of  Dreams  the  mother  art  — 
His  is  the  world  of  dreams  ! 
With  thee  he  wanders  oft  and  far. 
And  sees  a  paradise  in  every  star 

That  on  his  vision  beams: 
He  shuts  thy  visible  glories  out  — 

Enwraps  him  in  thy  densest  shade, 
And  there  in  attitude  devout, 
An  inner  world  for  him  is  made, 


TO  NIGHT.  167 

Circled  by  Fancy's  imagery  about; 
He  hears  the  minstrelsy  of  unseen  lyres  — 
The  melody  divine  his  own  inspires, 
And  while  he  muses,  burn  the  fires 

Of  sacred  poesy : 
To  thee,  the  prompter  of  sublime  desires, 
Suggestive  Night,  —  he  sings  to  thee! 

IX. 

Enchantress  dread,  oracular ! 
Thou  hast  some  destiny  in  every  star : 
Queen  of  astrologic  lore. 

Patron  of  the  ancient  seers ; 
Thou  whom  Science  kneels  before, 
Asking  entrance  to  thy  spheres; 
Friend  and  aid  of  mental  Toil, 

Curtaining  in  the  roving  thought, 
And  enriching  it  with  spoil 

From  the  rifled  Ages  brought ; 
In  thy  pavilion  dark  I  love  to  hide. 
And  see  the  visions  unto  day  denied ; 
So  when  thy  offspring,  Death,  surrounds 
My  flesh  with  night  that  knows  no  bounds, 
Unto  the  sleepless  spirit  may  be  given 
The  beatific  light  of  opening  Heaven. 


SONNETS. 


SONNETS. 


TO  A  VIOLET. 


HAT  is  there  in  thy  presence,  little  Flower, 
That  makes  me   tremble  thus,  as  if  ar- 
raigned 

Before  the  justice  of  some  dreaded  Power  ? 
Why  would  I  flee  thee,  yet  why  am  I  chained. 
Drinking  thy  breath,  as  thou  drink'st  in  the  shower. 
Till  with  deliciousness  my  sense  is  pained  ? 
Art  thou  Enchantress  of  this  Floral  bower  ? 
Then  give  me  back  the  force  thy  toils  have  gained  ! 
For  I  was  strong,  yea,  in  my  h^art  had  hushed 
The  voice  of  Love,  and  all  its  feeling  crushed. 
When  with  one  breath  of  thine  —  oh  fatal  sweet ! — 
My  cheek  with  wakened  memories  is  flushed. 
Emotions  smothered,  rise,  in  conflict  meet, 
And  to  thee,  little  Flower,  stern  Reason  owes  de- 


feat. 


(171) 


FLOWERY  ASSOCIATIONS. 

Let  me  respire  again  this  balmy  air, 
Freighted  with  hyacinths  and  violets! 
Here  the  enamored  sense  awhile  forgets 
This  real  world  of  bitterness  and  care, 
And  glides  away  in  dreams  serenely  fair: 
A  tear-drop  of  voluptuous  sadness  wets 
My  drooping  lid,  but  oh  !   't  is  only  there 
From  joy's  excess,  —  the  absence  of  regrets. 
Let  me  respire  again !     This  atmosphere 
Is  redolent  for  me  of  memories  dear ; 
Around  me  float  the  spirits  of  the  past ; 
Soft,  melting  tones  delight  my  listening  ear; 
An  eye  that  beams  with  love  is  on  me  cast ; 
But,  ah,  the  bliss  I  feel  is  too  intense  to  last! 
(172) 


SYMPATHY 

I. 

I  SAW  two  streams  from  distant  mountains  start, 
And  each  pursue  a  like  impetuous  course, 
As  if  impelled  by  some  mysterious  force 
Toward  the  same  end,  while  rushing  far  apart, 
Filling  their  native  vales  with  murmurs  hoarse. 
I  watched  these  torrents  with  congenial  heart, 
And  saw  each  swerve  from  its  maternal  source, 
Obeying  Freedom's  law,  to  them  as  art: 
I  saw  the  distance  'twixt  them  dwindling  fast; 
Until,  at  length,  with  simultaneous  bound, 
They  rushed  together,  —  each  its  mate  had  found  ! 
Thence,  as  one  tranquil  river,  on  they  passed 
Through  flowery  vales,  commingling  tones  profound. 
And  gained  together  the  broad  sea  at  last ! 

(173) 


n. 
Like  these  two  streams  our  births  were  far  apart, 
Our  youthful  course  alike  disturbed  and  wild  ; 
Each  was  in  nature  as  a  mountain  child  — 
Bold  as  the  torrent,  free  as  air  from  art. 
And  ever  seeking  for  its  counterpart. 
When  Sympathy,  with  subtle  force,  yet  mild. 
Drew  us  together  —  heart  to  kindred  heart  — 
Blending,  as  streams,  affections  undefiled. 
But  ah  !   more  blest  than  we  are  mountain  streams 
Which  rush  together  in  a  glad  embrace; 
For    they    are   one,  and    Heaven's  clear   sunlight 

beams 
Forever  after  on  their  tranquil  face; 
Whilst  we  are  only  one  in  Fancy's  dreams. 
And  Heaven  from  us  averts  its  smile  of  grace. 
(174) 


AWAKENING  LOVE. 

Within  this  bosorn,  like  a  timid  dove 
That  nestles  to  the  heart  with  folded  wings, 
Lies  half-concealed  a  downy,  new-fledged  love, 
Which  influences  sweet  and  tender  brings, 
That  through  my  spirit  tremulously  move; 
Ah !  now  they  seem  the  gentle  flutterings 
Of  the  young  dove  that  would  its  pinions  prove, 
Stirring  my  soul  till  plaintively  it  sings: 
Sings  like  the  turtle-dove,  whose  melting  coo 
Sends  a  voluptuous  sadness  through  the  trees. 
The  live-long  day  its  tender  mate  to  woo, 
Whose  soft  response  is  whispered  on  the  breeze. 
Oh!  music  is  Love's  voice  in  birds  like  these, 
And  song  Love's  utterance  to  the  poet  too. 

(175) 


LOVE'S   INFLUENCE. 

As  falls  upon  the  bud  the  kindly  dew, 
Swelling  the  heart  of  sweets  which  it  doth  hold, 
Until  it  breaks  its  leafy  prison  through; 
Or,  as  to  genial  suns,  those  leaves  unfold. 
And  give  their  wealth  of  fragrance  and  of  hue  — 
Their  forms  of  beauty  fresh  from  Nature's  mould, 
To  gladden  and  enrich  the  garden  view. 
While  the  same  bud  would  shrink  at  storms  and 

cold :  — 
So  do  the  treasures  of  the  human  heart 
Unfold  to  love's  warm,  dewy  influence. 
And  fragrant  charities  to  all  impart; 
For  love  is  ever  love's  sure  recompense. 
Ah !  many  a  misanthropic  soul  had  proved 
Philanthropist  instead,  if  once  it  had  been  loved. 

(176) 


PAETING. 

Moments  of  life  there  are  in  which  whole  years 
Of  thought,  of  deep  emotion,  seem  compressed ; 
When  the  heart's  language  can  alone  through  tearS; 
Or  the  warm  grasp  of  Friendship,  be  expressed : 
Such  is  the  present!  when  the  teeming  mind 
Is  big  with  memories,  with  hopes,  with  fears ; 
When  the  pure  dews  of  love  my  eyes  do  blind, 
And  our  brief  past  a  pleasant  dream  appears. 
Oh,  could  I  stand  upon  Parnassus'  mount 
And  with  perspective  sight  thy  course  divine ; 
Or  draughts  partake  from  pure  Castalia's  fount. 
Then  would  I  pour  my  spirit  into  thine ! 
But  through  the  misty  future  now  I  count 
Three  stars — Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,— for  us 

they  shine. 

(177) 

12 


ENCOURAGEMENT. 

When  first  peeps  out  from  earth  the  modest  vine, 
Asking  but  little  space  to  live  and  grow. 
How  easily  some  step,  without  design, 
May  crush  the  being  from  a  thing  so  low  I 
But  let  the  hand  that  doth  delight  to  show 
Support  to  feebleness,  the  tendril  twine 
Around  some  sturdy  prop,  and  'twill  bestow 
Its  thanks  in  fragrance,  and  with  blossoms  shine. 
Thus  when  young  Genius  first  puts  forth  its  shoot, 
So  timid  that  it  scarce  dare  ask  to  live  — 
The  tender  germ,  if  trodden  under  foot, 
Shrinks  back  again  to  its  undying  root ; 
While  kindly  training  bids  it  upward  strive, 
And  to  the  future  flowers  immortal  give. 

(178) 


CULTIVATION. 

Weeds     grow    unasked,    and    even    some     sweet 

flowers 
Spontaneous  give  their  fragrance  to  the  air, 
And  bloom  on  hills,  in  vales,  and  everywhere, 
As  shines  the  sun,  or  fall  the  summer  showers. 
But  wither  while  our  lips  pronounce  them  fair. 
Flowers  of  more  worth  repay  alone  the  care, 
The  nurture,  and  the  hopes  of  watchful  hours ; 
While    plants    most    cultured    have    most    lasting 

powers. 
So,  flowers  of  Genius  that  will  longest  live 
Spring  not  in  Mind's  uncultivated  soil, 
But  are  the  birth  of  time,  and  mental  toil, 
And  all  the  culture  Learning's  hand  can  give  : 
Fancies,  like  wild  flowers,  in  a  night  may  grow; 
But  thoughts  are  plants  whose  stately  growth  is 

slow.  (179) 


AWE   AND  ASPIRATION. 

When  I  behold  the  glorious  bards  of  eld 
Living  in  their  immortal  works  sublime, 
Through  awe  my  spirit  kneels,  and,  for  the  time, 
Spellbound  in  admiration  deep  is  held  ! 
But  when  I  turn  to  self  again  compelled, 
1  seem  a  worm,  that  strives  in  vain  to  climb, 
Hearing  above  me  the  eternal  chime 
Of  poet-voices,  through  vast  numbers  swelled. 
Oh,  Thou,  whose  vernal  bounty  re-creates. 
Whose  sun  the  insect's  covering  penetrates, 
And  bids  it  rise  and  soar  on  shining  wings! 
Uplift  a  soul,  that  on  thy  favor  waits. 
Till  soaring  heavenward,  like  old  bards  it  sings, 
While  through  the  future  answering  echo  rings. 
(180) 


BEAUTY. 

Who  says  that  Beauty  in  itself  is  naught  ? 
Hath  then  Omnipotence  in  vain  designed, 
And  the  great  shaping  Hand  but  idly  wrought? 
What   mean  the  flowers  with  which  the  fields   are 

fraught ; 
The  blushing  shells  that  ocean's  shore  have  lined ; 
The  changeful  hues  which  from  the  light  are  caught ; 
The  leaves,  symmetrical,  of  varied  kind. 
And  all  besides  that  charms  the  taste  refined? 
What  though  "  the  lilies  neither  toil  nor  spin," 
Christ  bared  their  bosoms  and  found  truth  within, 
Which,  when  they  cease  to  bloom,  will  deathless  be. 
He  who  from  Beauty  can  no  virtue  win. 
Is  blind;  or  would  in  his  own  nature  see 
That,  to  the  human  soul,  it  is  utility. 

(181) 


PRESENTIMENT. 

When  the  wide  concave  is  a  sea  of  blue, 
O'er  which  no  fleecy  clouds  are  sailing  seen; 
When  the  warm  sun  is  drinking  up  the  dew 
That  lay  all  night  along  the  deep  ravine, 
And  Nature,  wearing  her  accustomed  mien, 
Doth  unperturbed  her  daily  course  pursue; 
The  falling  mercury  gives  warning  true. 
If  storms  are  lurking  near  the  tranquil  scene. 
Thus,  when  our  spiritual  heavens  show 
No  darksome  signs,  a  coming  ill  will  throw 
Its  shadow  on  the  mind's  barometer; 
Thus,  the  mercurial  spirits  sinking  low, 
Mysterious  tokens  give,  too  deep  to  err. 
Of  which  the  bursting  storm  is  sad  interpreter. 
(182) 


CULTURE   AND  ACQUIREMENT. 

He  who  is  conscious  that  within  his  mind 
A  living  germ  is  hidden,  which  must  share 
The  patient  toil  of  daily,  earnest  care, 
And  thus  to  inward  culture  is  inclined. 
Will  mental  breadth  and  growing  stature  find, 
Till  like  a  tree  he  stands,  whose  branches  bear 
The  fruits,  which  in  exuberance  and  kind. 
Were  tokened  by  that  germ  of  promise  fair. 
But  he  whose  mind  is  ever  outward  bent. 
Taking  impressions  from  the  objects  round. 
Is  likfe  the  tree  whose  beauty  is  but  lent 
From  numerous  grafts  on  which  its  sap  is  spent ; 
Among  whose  leaves  no  native  fruit  is  found, 
While  clusters  there  from  foreign  trees  abound. 

(183) 


A   DREAM. 

'TwAS  summer,  and  the  spot  a  cool  retreat  — 
Where  curious  eyes  came  not,  nor  footstep  rude 
Disturbed  the  lovers'  chosen  solitude: 
Beneath  an  oak  there  was  a  mossy  seat, 
Where  we  reclined,  while  birds  above  us  wooed 
Their  mates  in  songs  voluptuously  sweet. 
A  limpid  brook  went  murmuring  by  our  feet. 
And  all  conspired  to  urge  the  tender  mood. 
Me  thought  I  touched  the  streamlet  with  a  flower, 
When  from  its  bosom  sprang  a  fountain  clear, 
Falling  again  in  the  translucent  shower, 
Which  made  more  green    each  blade  of  grass  ap- 
pear : 
»'  This  stream  's  thy  heart,"  I  said ;  ''  Love's  touch 

alone 
Can  change  it   to  the  fount  which  maketh   green 
my  own." 

(184) 


THE   VIOLETS. 

Methinks  when  angels  first  did  visit  earth, 
Wherever  pressed  its  soil  their  hallowed  feet, 
From  those  footprints  white  violets  sprang  to  birth, 
And  offered  odors  up  as  incense  meet 
The  sacred  messengers  of  God  to  greet. 
Well  pleased,  the  angels  bent  their  eyes  of  blue 
Upon  the  ground,  whence  came  the  offering  sweet, 
And  gave  the  violets  their  celestial  hue. 
Thus  are  they  heavenly  flowers,  in  whose  true  dye 
Fancy  may  still  discern  the  angel's  eye,    . 
And  there  read  oft  some  message  from  above 
Which  seems  half  hid  in  its  blue  depths  to  lie. 
Why  should  not  violets  human  feeling  move, 
If  such  as  these  the  blessed  angels  love  ? 

(185) 


PERSONIFICATION. 

To  Poesy  some  glorious  god  of  eld 
Is  every  planet  which  through  space  doth  glide, — 
A  distant  star  by  Fancy  deified : 
Even  fallen  earth,  by  other  stars  excelled, 
Upon  whose  disks  no  spots  of  sin  abide,  — 
Is  by  the  poet  ever  sacred  held, 
And  though  to  take  a  lower  form  compelled* 
Still  by  his  shaping-thought  personified. 
He  sees  the  earth  like  some  huge  Titan  stand, 
"With  brow  by  Phoebus  crowned,  or  Iris  spanned; 
Its  sense  and  instinct  are  the  brutal  race. 
And  man,  upright,  created  to  command. 
Its  living  soul,  its  intellect  and  grace. 
The  likeness  fair  of  his  Creator's  face. 
(186) 


DEPRESSION. 

A  LOAD  of  emptiness  is  on  my  heart, 

More  heavy  than  the  weight  of  actual  woe ; 

Nature,  too,  seems  oppressed,  as  if  a  part 

Of  what  my  spirit  suffers  she  did  know, 

And  would  a  fellowship  of  sadness  show : 

To-day  I  cannot  look  on  things  of  art,  — 

The  tone  of  my  whole  being  is  so  low. 

That  Beauty  to  me  could  no  joy  impart. 

So  I  will  feed  this  hungry  void  with  thought. 

Such  as  from  memory's  teeming  realm  is  brought, 

And  nourish  sadness  with  nutritious  tears ; 

For,  unto  me  experience  hath  taught. 

That  the  lone  heart,  which  sterile,  cold  appears. 

Thus  nourished,  fruitful  joy  to  sorrow  bears. 

(187) 


NOTHING  NEW. 

The  fragrant  flowers  that  greet  returning  Spring, 
Bear  the  same  forms  that  flowers  before  them  bore ; 
Nor  does  the  affluent,  vernal  season  bring 
To  deck  their  petals  any  coloring 
Save  dyes  which  painted  all  their  kind  before: 
The  feathered  songsters  never  fear  to  sing. 
Lest  Nature  in  their  music  should  restore 
Tones  that  have  gladdened  forest-haunts  of  yore. 
As  in  the  world  of  Nature,  so  in  Art,  — 
Eternal  are  the  laws  which  both  obey; 
What  was  revealed  in  ancient  Homer's  lay. 
Before  was  sung  from  Genius'  mighty  heart; 
Is  re-qreated  by  our  bards  to-day ; 
Nor  will  the  future  one  new  truth  impart 
(188) 


PREMONITION. 

I  FEEL  the  shadow  of  a  coming  Fate  ! 

It  hangs  upon  me  in  a  heavy  gloom, 

Silent  as  Night,  mute  harbinger  of  doom. 

I  cannot  speak  ;  so  tremulous  my  state, 

I  cannot  think  —  I  can  do  naught  but  wait: 

I  cannot  even  breathe ;  my  soul  wants  room, 

I  seem  one  shut  up  living  in  a  tomb, — 

I  gasp  !  —  I  faint !  —  O  God,  I  suffocate ! 

Now  am  I  fanned  as  by  invisible  wings; 

But  oh,  how  icy  cold  the  air !  it  brings 

A  numbness  through  my  frame,  as  struck  by  death 

My  soul  is  seized  with  direful  shudderings ! 

Speak  out,   dread  Shade!    Fear  waits    thee    with 

stayed  breath. 
FaU,  pending  Doom !  quick,  crush  me  underneath. 

(189) 


DRi:AD. 

Who  hath  not  felt  on  sudden  cloud  his  mind, 
When  clearest  seemed  his  moral  atmosphere, 
The  spectral  presence  of  unshapen  Fear, 
Forecoming  shadow  of  some  111  behind  ? 
Who    hath   not  —  searching  through   all   monster- 
kind  — 
Challenged  his  tortured  Fancy  to  appear 
In  any  hideous  form,  pronounced  and  clear, 
Rather  than  that  of  terror  undefined  ? 
The  bravest  hero  who  e'er  hurled  the  lance 
Has  paled  to  see  a  vizored  foe  advance, 
Though  never  at  Wrong's  open  face  he  quailed. 
Distorting  mists  do  real  ills  enhance ; 
Better  by  stern-faced  Woe  to  be  assailed, 
Than  by  dim  Dread,  more  fearful  because  veiled. 

(190) 


DESPAIR. 

Down,  monstrous  demon,  down,  thou  leaden-eyed! 
The  stagnant  blood  of  an  unhopeful  woe 
Darkens  thy  visage,  —  spots,  all  Hvid,  show 
How  the  swollen  heart  within  thee  sudden  died, 
When  vital  Hope  departed  from  thy  side. 
Take  off  that  stony  gaze  —  it  chills  me  so ! 
Or  speak  and  tell  me  what  astounding  blow 
Turned  thee  to  stone,  —  an  anguish  petrified ! 
In  vain  thy  hopelessness  may  threaten  me ; 
While  Faith  lives,  /  live,  and  shall  never  be 
The  awful  thing  thou  art,  —  Accursed  of  God ! 
Avaunt,  then !  leave  me  my  live  agony. 
Dear  Hope,  stay  thou !  Though  driven  by  the  rod, 
Let  mine  the  path  be  by  the  faithful  trod. 

(191) 


MORAL   STRENGTH. 

The  spirit  that  in  conscious  right  is  strong, 

By  Treachery  or  Rage  may  be  assailed: 

But  over  single-handed  Right  hath  Wrong 

Never  by  art  or  multitude  prevailed; 

As  Samson,  shaking  off  the  withes  that  failed 

To  hold  the  Titan,  rose  all  free  among 

The  weak  Philistines  who  before  him  quailed, 

And  bade  defiance  to  the  coward-throng. 

So  the  Titanic  soul  through  moral  power 

Rending  the  toils  of  Calumny  may  tower  — 

A  host  within  itself — sublimely  free, 

Above  the  foes  who  in  their  weakness  cower. 

Shorn  of  its  strength  the  human  soul  must  be, 

Ere  overcome  by  Truth's  worst  enemy. 

(192) 


SPIRITUAL   DISCERNMENT. 

Beauty  floats  round  us  as  a  spirit  fair, 

But,  save  to  minds  wherein  its  light  doth  dwell, 

Like  to  all  spirits,  is  invisible: 

Eternal  Truth  shines  glorious  everywhere; 

jTet  who  its  lineaments  divine  can  tell, 

Save  such  as  truth  in  their  own  bosoms  bear? 

IMusic's  sweet  tones  throughout  all  Nature  swell, 

But  ears  that  hear  them  tuned  to  music  are : 

The  holy  Godhead  omnipresent  is. 

Yet  unanointed  eyes  can  never  see 

The  central  soul  that  moves  a  world  like  this, 

Nor  the  bright  Sun  of  heaven's  perpetual  bliss ; 

Such  as  behold  God's  face  all  pure  must  be, — 

Types  of  his  own  celestial  purity. 

(193) 
13 


GOD'S   PROVIDENCE   OVER   ALL. 

Had  scientific  Genius  only  planned 
The  wondrous,  awe-inspiring  telescope, 
That  unto  human  eyes  a  world  might  ope 
In  every  star  which  moves  at  Heaven's  command, 
To  planetary-time  revolving  grand  ;  — 
Man,  shrinking  to  a  worm,  could  never  hope 
To  be  upheld  by  that  stupendous  Hand 
Which  wheels  the  stars.    But  ah !  the  microscope 
Bids  faith  revive,  revealing  to  the  gaze 
Countless  ephemera,  basking  in  the  rays 
Of  one  brief  sun,  which  ends  their  little  hour ; 
Yet  each  His  care  who  suns  and  planets  sways: 
Who  gave  man  genius  to  observe  His  power, 
No  less  than  in  the  stars,  in  insect,  bird,  and  flower. 
(194) 


HUMAN   FRAILTY. 

How  strangely  fashioned  is  the  human  mind, 
To  love  the  good,  the  beautiful,  the  true, 
And  earnestly  the  right  alone  pursue ; 
Yet,  under  impulse  strong,  to  reason  blind. 
Act  like  the  common  herd  of  humankind. 
And  by  one  error  all  life's  good  undo  ! 
Alas  !  that  fools  should  consolation  find 
In  follies  which  the  wise  expose  to  view : 
But,  such  are  the  fatuities  of  earth. 
And  when  the  heart  betrays  its  mortal  birth, 
By  weaknesses,  which,  though  of  God  forgiven, 
To  base-born  minds  are  not  atoned  by  worth, 
The  noble  ends  for  which  that  heart  hath  striven. 
Are  in  its  faults  forgot  by  all,  save  Heaven. 

(195j 


PRAYER. 

Soar   up   to   Heaven,    my  thought,  on  wings    of 

prayer ! 
But  oh !  attempt  it  not  when  passions  jar 
Within  the  soul,  like  adverse  winds,  nor  dare 
Through  the  dense  atmosphere  of  earthly  care 
To  force  thy  flight  where  Mercy  waits  afar; 
For,  like  some  bird  that  beats  in  vain  the  air, 
When  stormy  clouds  obscure  Day's  radiant  car  — 
Fighting  his  way  through  elements  at  war. 
Till  fail  his  wings  their  burden  to  upbear  — 
Is  he,  whose  prayer  would  struggle  up  to  Heaven, 
While  fluctuating  cares  the  mind  perturb,  — 
AMiile  worldly  calls  its  heavenward  motions  curb ; 
Or  here  and  there  by  mental  storms  't  is  driven : 
But  when  no  earthborn  aims  the  soul  disturb. 
How  swift  soars  Thought,  to   prayer's   free  pinions 


given ! 


(196) 


FRUITS   OF   AGE. 

How  ripe,  how  mellow,  fall  the  words  of  life 
From  the  gray-haired  divine,  who  yet  doth  live 
The  ancient  church's  representative  ! 
Who    hath    withstood   long   years   of  change    and 

strife, 
Like  some  old  tree,  that  richer  fruit  will  give 
For  braving  tempests  and  the  pruning-knife, 
And  with  full  golden  clusters  now  is  rife, 
Which  drop  their  wealth  for  all  who  will  receive. 
And  who  would  fail  to  catch  the  fruits  of  truth. 
Which  thoughtful  years  have  ripened  in  the  mind,  — 
Product  of  Heaven-sown  seed,  of  life-long  growth. 
Blending  with  wisdom  grafted  from  mankind. 
To  which  the  suns  and  dews  of  Grace  have  given 
The  flavor  of  the  immortal  fruits  of  Heaven. 

(197) 


FADING  AUTUMN. 

The  autumnal  glories  all  have  passed  away: 

The  forest  leaves  no  more  in  hectic  red 

Give  glowing  tokens  of  their  brief  decay, 

But  scattered  lie,  or  rustle  to  the  tread, 

Like    whispered    warnings    from    the    mouldering 

dead ; 
The  naked  trees  stretch  out  their  arms  all  day, 
And  each  bald  hill-top  lifts  its  reverend  head 
As  if  for  some  new  covering  to  pray. 
Come,  Winter,  then,  and  spread  thy  robe  of  white 
Above  the  desolation  of  this  scene ; 
And  when  the  sun  with  gems  shall  make  it  bright, 
Or,  when  its  snowy  folds  by  midnight's  queen 
Are  silvered  o'er  with  a  serener  light. 
We  '11  cease  to  sigh  for  summer's  living  green. 

(198) 


TO  A  VIOLET   FOUND   IN   DECEMBER. 

Ill-fated  Violet !  opening  thy  blue  eye 

In  Winter's  face,  who  treacherous  smiles,  to  see 

So  fair  a  child,  of  parent  such  as  He ! 

And  didst  thou  think  in  his  cold  lap  to  lie, 

Wrapt  in  the  fallen  mantle  of  the  tree. 

Secure  as  if  Spring's  bosom  cherished  thee  ? 

Ah,  little  flower !  thy  doom  must  be  to  die 

By  thine  own  sire,  like  Saturn's  progeny. 

In  vain  do  human  gentleness  and  love, 

And  breathing  beauty  hope  to  melt  the  soul 

Through  which  a  holy  influence  never  stole  ; 

Though  softening  love  the  lion's  heart  may  move, 

It  cannot  make  cold  Self  itself  forget ; 

Nor  canst  thou  Winter  change,  sweet  Violet. 

(i99) 


A  WINTER  NIGHT. 

How  calm,  how  solemn,  how  sublime  the  scene ! 
The  moon  in  full-orbed  glory  sails  above, 
And  stars  in  myriads  around  her  move, 
Each  looking  down  with  watchful  eye  serene 
On  earth,  which  in  a  snowy  shroud  arrayed, 
And  still,  as  in  a  dreamless  sleep  'twere  laid, 
Saddens  the  spirit  with  its  deathlike  mien : 
Yet  does  it  charm  the  eye  —  its  gaze  still  hold ; 
Just  as  the  face  of  one  we  loved,  when  cold. 
And  pale,  and  lovely  e'en  in  death  't  is  seen. 
Will  fix  the  mourner's  eye,  though  trembling  fears 
Fill  all  his  soul,  and  frequent  fall  his  tears. 
Oh  !  I  could  watch    till    morn    should  change   tlie 

sight, 
This  x;old,  and  fair,  and  mournful  Winter  Night 

(200) 


THE    CLOSING  YEAR. 

The  last  page  of  the  Year's  recording  book 
Is  well-nigh  written  :  pause  O  Time,  thou  Scribe  ! 
"While  we  turn  o'er  its  leaves  and  backward  look. 
Ah,  vain  request !  Not  all  the  human  tribe, 
Could,  with  blent  suppliance  or  offerings,  bribe 
That  pen  which  for  an  instant  ne'er  forsook 
Its  busy  work,  since  the  behest  it  took, 
Each  heart's,  each  moment's  history  to  inscribe. 
But  Conscience  whispers  of  full  many  a  thought, 
Or  word,  or  deed,  to  Time's  great  record  brought. 
Which  tears  of  penitence  would  fain  erase. 
Dread  Book  !  let  thy  last  page,  at  least,  be  fraught 
With  some  good  action  or  resolve,  whose  trace 
Shall  meet  the  smile  of  Heaven's  approving  face. 

(201) 


TO  THE   RHONE, 

WHERE   IT   REFUSES  TO  BLEND   WITH  THE   ARVE. 

I  GAZE  into  thy  depths,  in  dreamy  mood. 
Offspring  of  Leman  Lake,  transparent  Rhone! 
Pure  as  the  crystal  river  from  God's  throne  ! 
And  see  a  symbol  there  of  spirits  good. 
Long,  by  intrinsic  purity  alone. 
Have  thy  chaste  waters,  undefiled,  withstood 
The  turbid  torrent,  of  audacious  tone. 
That  rushes  to  pollute  that  stainless  flood. 
In  vain  !  —  its  foulness  there  can  make  no  trace, 
Apart  thou  glidest  on,  serenely  fair. 
Reflecting  always  Heaven's  celestial  ftice. 
Just  as  the  soul,  imbued  with  virtue's  grace, 
Moves  with  the  World,  untainted  by  its  air, 
Through  good,  repulsing  evil  everywhere. 
(202) 


BY   THE   MEDITERRANEAN. 

t 
Here  let  me  sit,  to  drink  the  salt  sea-air, 
And   watch    the  green  waves   breaking  into  foam; 
To  bid  winged  Fancy  o'er  the  waters  roam, 
Like  yon  sea-bird  careering  freely  there  — 
No  thought  to  stay  him,  and  to  vex  no  care. 
How    deep    to    deep     through    all    this    grandeur 

speaks  — 
Seaward  and  landward,  beauty  everywhere  ! 
Those   mountains,  with   their   changing   lights   and 

shades  — 
Spring  at  their  base,  and  Winter  on  their  peaks ; 
Those  shadowy  hills,  in  which  the  picture  fades ; 
That   phantom-sail,  which   seems   to   glide  through 

space. 
Where  mystery  the  distance  dim  pervades : 
Be  still,  my  soul!  —  this  is  a. holy  place  — 
And  view  the  Infinite  in  Nature's  face. 

(203) 


TO  MOUNT  VISO. 

As  stood  in  kingly  beauty  Saul  of  old. 
Shoulders  and  head  above  the  sacred  seers; 
So  towerest  thou,  Mount  Viso,  grand  and  bold, 
Above  the  summits  of  thy  princely  peers ! 
And  who,  without  revering,  can  behold 
That  ancient  head,  all  white  with  snows  of  years. 
Which  evermore  so  near  to  Heaven  appears,  — 
As  if  "  the  place  of  honor  "  thou  didst  hold. 
Art  thou  of  earth,  but  stationed  there  to  teach 
Man  o'er  his  earth-born  nature  so  to  rise, 
That  he  a  purer  region  too  may  reach, 
And  hold  high  converse  with  the  bending  skies  ? 
Yes :  for  by  thee  I  feel  my  soul  aspire, 
And  grow  in  stature  with  sublime  desire. 
(204) 


MOONLIGHT  IN  ITALY. 

There  's  not  a  breath  the  dewy  leaves  to  stir ; 
There 's  not  a  cloud  to  spot  the  sapphire  sky ; 
All  Nature  seems  a  silent  worshipper: 
While  saintly  Dian,  with  great,  argent  eye, 
Looks  down  as  lucid  from  the  depths  on  high, 
As  she  to  Earth  were  Heaven's  interpreter: 
Each  twinkling  little  star  shrinks  back,  too  shy 
Its  lesser  glory  to  obtrude  by  her 
Who  fills  the  concave  and  the  world  with  light ; 
And  ah !  the  human  spirit  must  unite 
In  such  a  harmony  of  silent  lays. 
Or  be  the  only  discord  in  this  night. 
Which  seems  to  pause  for  vocal  lips  to  raise 
The  sense  of  worship  into  uttered  praise. 

(205) 


TO   THE    GREEK   SLAVE. 

Beautiful  model  of  creative  Art ! 

My  spirit  feels  the  reverence  for  thee, 

That  felt  the  ancients  for  a  deity. 

And  did  the  sculptor  shape  thee  part  by  part, 

Fair  as  if  whole  from  Genius'  mighty  heart 

Thou  'dst     sprung,  like  Venus,  from    the   foaming 

sea? 
Ah  !  not  for  show,  in  a  disgracefid  mart, 
Is  that  calm  look  of  conscious  purity  ; 
Nor  should  unhallowed  eyes  presume  to  steal 
A  sensual  glance,  where  holy  minds  would  kneel, 
As  to  some  goddess  in  her  virgin-youth. 
And  who  could  shame  in  thy  pure  presence  feel. 
Save  those,  who  false  themselves,  must  shrink,  for- 
sooth 
From  the  mild  lustre  of  ungarnished  Truth. 

(206) 


LINES 

SUGGESTED   BY    THE  INDIAN  OF  CKAWFORD'S    GROUPS    FOR    THE 
PEDIMENT   OF   THE    CAPITOL.   AT  WASHINGTON. 


One  stroke  of  Genius  tells  a  century's  tale: 

Behold  this  Indian  —  once  the  forest  lord, 

Whose  swift-winged  arrow  flew  to  do  his  word  — 

Dethroned  before  the  Future's  lifted  vail, 

Sitting  alone  a  nation  to  bewail ! 

Read  in  the  muscular  tension  of  that  form, 

In     that     clinched     hand,     the     inward    working 

storm  — 
A  moral  strife  which  turns  even  marble  pale  ! 
He  hears  behind  Advancement's  rapid  tread, 
The  plough  profanely  rooting  up  his  dead ; 
Scattered  he  sees  the  ashes  of  his  sires, — 
Dispersed  his  tribes,  without  their  savage  head, 
Invasion  trampling  out  his  wigwam  fires. 
And  feels  revenge  and  death  but  impotent  desires. 

(207) 


n. 
Thus  speaks  the  eloquent  stone,  informed  with  life, 
The  march  of  progress  o'er  a  fallen  race ; 
Thus  more  than  history  speaks,  for  here  I  trace 
That  deeper  tale,  —  a  human  spirit's  strife  ! 
So  with  crushed    pain    this    Indian    breast    seems 

rife, 
I  almost  listen  for  the  throbbing  heart. 
Or  call  in  pity  upon  mighty  Art 
To  give  the  conquered  back  his  bow  and  knife. 
Yet  no:  the  pliant  sympathies  may  err, 
But  Art  is  Nature's  true  interpreter  ; 
And  Nature  prophet-power  the  artist  gives 
To  speak  to  distant  centuries  for  her. 
The  Red-man  doomed,  his  certain  fate  receives, 
But  dying,  thus  sublime  in  marble  still  he  lives. 
(208) 


WRITTEN   ON    THE    FLY-LEAF   OF    MRS. 
BROWNING'S   POEMS. 

Stat!  come  not  here  with  unanointed  eyes, 
And  hope  that  inner  temple  to  behold 
Where  Beauty  lives  in  phases  manifold. 
Come  not,  unless  your  liberal  thought  can  rise 
To  Freedom's  heaven,  this  poet's  Paradise  ; 
Come  not  without  the  key,  of  antique  mould, 
To  her  great  wealth  of  lore  and  fable  old ; 
Nor  lampless  search  the  deep  that  in  her  lies. 
But  you  who  have  a  truth-lit  spirit,  come  ! 
You,  who  that  superhuman  power  can  see 
Which  turns  the  meanest  thing  beneath  Heaven's 

dome 
To  gold,  through  its  divinest  alchemy. 
Come,  kneel  to  Genius,  enter  Feeling's  home, 
And  own  the  Godlike  in  humanity. 

(209) 
14 


TO   ARABELLA. 

There  is  a  pathos  in  those  azure  eyes, 

Touching,  and    beautiful,  and    strange,  fair   child ! 

When  the  fringed  lids  upturn,  such  radiance  mild 

Beams  out,  as  in  some  brimming  lakelet  lies, 

Which  undisturbed  reflects  the  cloudless  skies: 

No  tokens  glitter  there  of  passion  wild, 

That  into  ecstasy  with  time  shall  rise ; 

But  in  the  deep  of  those  clear  orbs  are  signs, 

Which  Poesy's  prophetic  eye  divines, 

Of  woman's  love,  enduring,  undefiled ! 

If,  like  the  lake  at  rest,  through  life  we  see 

Thy  face  reflect  the  heaven  that  in  it  shines, 

No  Idol  to  thy  worshippers  thou  'It  be, 

For  he  will  worship  Heaven  who  worships  thee. 

(210) 


THE  ^ISTER   QUEENS. 


When  Mary,  England's  bloody  queen  appeared, 
Like  the  red  moon,  presaging  storms,  she  rose 
The  sceptred  omen  of  a  nation's  woes ! 
Her  lurid  track  by  stars  was  all  uncheered  — 
Her  night  of  darkness,  one  without  repose, 
And  through  its  shadows  boding  birds  careered 
Where'er  the  fagot's  flame  to  Heaven  upreared, 
Calling  for  vengeance  on  the  martyr's  foes. 
Oh,  sanguine  Queen !  where  was  thy  woman's  heart 
When  thou  didst  act  the  tyrant  bigot's  part. 
And  write  in  blood  on  Britain's  soil  thy  name? 
Time,  the  Obliterator,  hath  no  art 
To  wash  the  purple  stains  from  off  thy  fame. 
Nor  quench  thy  deeds  which  glare  in  characters  of 
flame.  (211) 


How  like  chaste  Dian  rose  the  Virgin  Queen, 
Resplendently,  her  glorious  stars  among ! 
Scattering  the  mists  of  bigotry  that  long 
O'er  Albion's  vales  and  rocky  heights  were  seen. 
Fair  Regent !  though  long  ages  intervene, 
We  yet  behold  thee,  with  thy  glittering  throng, 
Moving  in  royal  majesty  serene. 
By  vocal  stars  immortalized  in  song. 
Sweet  Spenser  first  from  the  horizon  far 
Salutes  his  "  Fairy  Queen,"  her  evening  star ! 
While  statesmen,  warriors,  and  wits  concur 
To  form  her  radiant  galaxy ;  —  and,  ah  ! 
Transcendent  Shakspeare,  star  of  stars !  for  her 
In  regal  glory  shines  —  the  lordly  Jupiter. 
(212) 


THE    MONTHS. 


THE   MONTHS 


JANUARY. 


HE  Old  Year  to  Time's  burial-place  hath 
gone 
In  silentness,  embalmed  by  Memory's  tear ! 
And  lo  !  a  youthful  prince  ascends  the  throne, 
Where  loyal  hearts  allegiance  haste  to  own ; 
Where  faces  wreathed  in  hopeful  smiles  appear. 
Promise  and  Mirth  attend  the  day  alone  ; 
All  hearthstones  catch  the  spark  of  festive  cheer, 
And  brighter  shine  to  greet  the  new-crowned  Year. 
Glad  Earth  a  mantle,  ermined  with  pure  snow, 
Puts  on  in  honor  of  the  regal  scene  ; 
The  lordly  forest-trees  in  diamonds  glow, 
And  every  shrub  is  jewelled  like  a  queen ; 
The  merry  bells  are  ringing  to  and  fro. 
And  all  the  world  wears  pleasure's  jocund  mien. 

(215) 


n. 

FEBRUARY. 

A  HARSH,  and  yet  relenting  monarch  thou! 
Briefest  of  months,  yet  lengthener  of  the  days ; 
Sharpener  of  cold ;  yet  bringing  mid-day  rays 
That  melt   the    snow-crown  from    the    mountain's 

brow. 
And  frozen  vales  with  sunny  smiles  endow : 
The  loosened  ice  in  sluggish  rivers  strays ; 
But  lo!  fierce  rains  the  mountain  flood-gates  raise. 
And  torpid  streams  are  rushing  torrents  now ! 
Thou  paradox  of  months !  though  hard  and  chill, 
Thou  soflenest  human  bosoms: — ay  'tis  thine 
The  heart  with  warmest  impulses  to  fill; 
To  prompt  the  amorous  sigh,  the  glowing   quill, 
And  speed  the  tender,  love-inspiring  line 
On  wings  of  blessing  from  St.  Valentine. 
(216) 


m. 

MARCH. 

Thou  Boanerges  of  the  months,  hoarse  March ! 
Dead  forests  startle  at  thy  blustering  tones, 
Through  withered  vales    there's   "shaking    of  dry 

bones :  " 
And  ah !  the  lips  which  hectic  fevers  parch. 
Now  utter  prayers,  'twixt  agonizing  groans, 
And  sunken,  lustrous  eyes  to  Heaven's  blue  arch 
Look  up  for  pity,  as  thy  rude  winds  search 
The  wasting  frame  which  still  a  spirit  owns, 
Yet  thou,  who  victims  to  the  tomb  dost  bring. 
Art  boisterous  usher  of  the  gentle  Spring,  — 
Whose  balmy  southwest,  when  she  parts  from  thee, 
Shall  come,  with  life  anew  inspiriting 
The  languid  heart,  till  its  quick  pulses  be 
Timed  to  the  beat  of  healthful  harmony. 

(217) 


IV. 

APRIL. 

Capricious  April,  beautiful  coquet! 
Thou  wearest  now  a  smile,  and  now  a  frown, 
And  now  a  pensive  air,  with  lids  cast  down. 
And  thy  sad  visage  with  fresh  tear-drops  wet: 
Then  all  at  once,  thou  sadness  dost  forget,  — 
Thy  forehead  circling  with  joy's  radiant  crown, 
And  laughing  gayly,  with  a  laugh  thine  own  — 
Lovely  in  tears,  in  smiles  more  lovely  yet! 
Thy  favorites  are  not  princes  of  the  earth. 
Nor  gay  gallants ;  but  sons  of  lowly  birth  — 
For  ploughman  and  for  planter  are  thy  wiles ; 
Thy  bird-toned  voice  calls  rustics  from  the  hearth 
To  labor,  while  thy  presence  care  beguiles. 
And  quickens  precious  seed  beneath  thy  tears  and 
smiles. 

(218) 


MAY 

Heb£;  of  months  !  —  fresh  roses  on  thy  cheek, 
Thy  cup  runs  o'er  with  nectar  of  May-dew : 
The  glad  flowers  peep  from  earth  thy  face  to  view ; 
The  birds  in  merry  songs  their  welcome  speak, 
And  lambs  in  gambols  sportive  utterance  seek : 
The  laughing  fields  thy  path  with  verdure  strew ; 
All  Nature's  voices  rapturous  strains  renew. 
And  fragrant  violets  breathe  their  greeting  meek. 
Lead  off  the  dance,  then,  dimple-footed  May  ! 
While  gurgling  brooks  and  silver  fountains  play  ; 
Lead    off   the    dance !    Each    breathing    creature 

springs 
The  impulse  of  its  gladness  to  obey  ; 
Life  stirs  anew  in  all  created  things, — 
All,  with  the  worm,  grow  conscious  now  of  wings. 


(219) 


VI. 

*  JUNE. 

Queen  of  the  sisters  twelve,  imperial  June ! 
Thou  steppest  forth  with  gariands  on  thy  head  — 
Full  statured,  radiant,  with  a  Juno  tread ! 
The  kingly  sun  warm  greets  thee  at  high  noon  ; 
"  God  save  the  Queen  ! "  is  Nature's  loyal  tune ; 
Balm  as  a  tribute  from  all  flowers  is  shed. 
And  falling  blossoms  thee  a  carpet  spread, 
Soft  as  e'er  wove  'neath  Orient's  crescent  moon. 
A  glorious,  and  a  bounteous  reign  is  thine! 
Thy  smiles  as  blessings  on  the  green  hills  shine ; 
From  out  thy  footprints  springs  the  wavy  corn  ; 
In  scented  clover  feed  thy  happy  kine ; 
The  swelling  grain  foretells  rich  fruits  unborn, 
And  harvest-hopes,  as  plumes,  are  gayly  worn. 


VII. 

JULY. 

Ripe    matron  -  month  !     thou    ruddy  -  cheeked   and 

plump,  — 
Warm-hearted,  generous,  honest  as  the  sun  ! 
Yet  lavishing  thy  smiles,  till  these  men  shun, 
And  from  their  heat  seek  yonder  shady  clump. 
To  woo  fresh  breezes  on  the  old-tree  stump ; 
Watching  meanwhile  what  in  the  fields  is  done 
With  thy  first  fruits  and  reapers,  one  by  one. 
Drinking  in  coolness  from  the  dripping  pump. 
Bountiful  Mother !    cream  thy  full  breast  yields,  — 
Thy  breath  is  redolent  of  new-mown  fields ; 
Toil  thou  repayest  with  thy  harvest  cheer, — 
The  spreading  oak  from  noontide  kindly  shields 
The  laborer's  heated  brow,  and  foaming  beer. 
Cooled  by  the  brook,  awaits  his  frugal  meal  spread 

here.  (221) 


VIII. 

AUGUST. 

Thou  faded  Beauty !  all  would  fly  from  thee,  — 
Summer  is  past  when  she  outlives  her  charms : 
In  vain  stretch  out  imploringly  thine  arms; 
Gone  is  that  freshness  once  a  joy  to  see ; 
Thy  heat  is  fever  —  thy  smile  bumingly 
Falls  on  the  Earth,  engendering  noxious  swarms ; 
A  pestilence  is  in  thy  breath  that  harms : 
Oh,  for  cool  winds  the  fetid  air  to  free! 
There's  not   a  breeze;    the    fainting  leaves    seen 

dead; 
The  stagnant  pools  a  mortal  odor  spread, 
And  every  object  wears  a  sickly  hue, 
Which  from  thy  sickliness  o'er  all  is  shed: 
For  Nature's  thirst  there 's  not  a  drop  of  dew ;  — 
Come,  vivifying  rain,  from  death  bring  life  anew! 

(222) 


IX. 

SEPTEMBER. 

Heaven  opens  now,  —  "  the  latter  rain  "  descends ! 
Earth  is  refreshed,  dear  Nature  breathes  again  — 
Glows  in  the  orchard,  laughs  along  the  plain, 
And  joy  anew  through  many  a  brave  heart  sends : 
Now,  in  content,  the  farmer's  hope  attends 
His  ripening  cornfields,  drinking  in  the  rain  ; 
His  clean  washed  fruit-trees,  ruddy  as  the  swain 
Who  for  their  shaken  clusters  eager  wends. 
Now  looks  the  sun    complacent  through  the  cloud, 
And  sets  in  his  first  autumn-glory  proud, — 
Purple  and  crimson  curtains  deck  his  bed: 
The  "  voices  of  the  night "  sound  clear  and  loud ; 
Man  goes  to  rest,  still  feeling  overhead 
The  benediction  on  all  Nature  shed. 

(223) 


X. 

OCTOBER. 

Month  of  the  poet* s  heart !  thy  glory  seems 
To  his  entranced,  enraptured  sight  to  be 
The  living  form,  the  bright  reality 
Of  Fancy's  changeful  and  luxuriant  dreams. 
Thou  pet-month  of  the  patriarch  year  !   On   thee  — 
Favorite  of  twelve  —  his   smile  in  fondness  beams, 
And  with  a  coat  of  many  colors  he 
Hath  decked  the  child  whom  most  his  age  esteems. 
How  all  in  crimson,  like  a  prince,  doth  stand 
The  green -leafed  maple  which  my  lattice  kissed  ! 
The  woods  have  changed,  as  to  a  magic  wand; 
While  vines,  which  emeralds  round    the   trees  did 

twist. 
Now  hang  in  clusters  rich  of  amethyst, 
And  all  the  earth  appears  a  fairy-land. 

(224) 


XI. 

NOVEMBER. 

Ghastly  November  —  naked  skeleton 
Of  Nature,  late  so  blooming  and  so  fair  ! 
Thy  dreariness  infects  the  general  air, 
And  a  dead  weight  of  sadness  rests  upon 
My  lonely  soul,  that  seems  in  unison 
With  desolation  reigning  everywhere: 
Now  chiUing  silence  numbs  me,  and  anon 
Sepulchral  winds  wail  through  the  branches  bare, 
And  start  appalling  fancies  in  the  brain. 
Which  pass  before  me  like  a  funeral  train  — 
Bearing  dead  hopes,  lost  pleasures,  to  the  tomb. 
Nature  from  death  shall  rise  renewed  again  ; 
But  ah  !  no  Spring  restores  life's  faded  bloom, 
Nor  to  Love's  withered  flowers  their  lost  perfume  ! 

(225) 
15 


XII. 

DECEMBER. 

Thou  art  a  desert  on  the  annual  map, 
Sterile  December!     Yet,  we  find  in  thee 
An  oasis,  where  grows  the  Christmas  tree. 
Dropping  its  riches  in  Affection's  lap : 
Though  all  around  a  weary  waste  may  be, 
Though  clouds  and  storms  the  skies  above  enwrap, 
And  wintry  snows  the  distant  mountains  cap, 
In  its  green  shadow  springeth  life  and  glee. 
Beyond  this  verdant  spot  more  bleak  and  drear 
Thy  still  extending,  arid  wastes  appear, — 
Ending  at  length  in  a  deep,  shadowy  vale, 
Where  dies  in  loneliness  the  aged  Year: 
The  sighing  winds  alone  his  end  bewail. 
And  Midnight's  heart  entombs  his  dismal  tale. 

(226) 


THE   END. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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